Giving In
by Artificial Starlight
Summary: Besides their climate, Canada and Russia didn't think they'd have anything in common; they didn't care enough to find out. However, during this meeting, perhaps they'll get a chance and hopefully the experience will change them for the better.
1. Chaud: Hot

**Giving In ****–**** Artificial Starlight**

Chapter 1: Chaud: Hot

"Alright then, I suppose that's it for today. Our next meeting is scheduled for the twelfth of March. We'll be discussing the trade negotiations regarding the Middle East. I suggest everyone get plenty of rest during these months off; with the economy as it is, it wouldn't do to strain ourselves." The sound of papers shuffling and chairs scraping echoed through the high ceilinged conference room as the audience finally stood from the table that had held them prisoner for the last five hours.

"Damn, Iggy, that was such a boring speech, I almost fell asleep," A loud voice rang from the crowd of countries. There was no doubt of whom it belonged to.

"Shut your trap, America, I only spoke for thirty minutes!"

"So tired!"

"You more than any of us should be paying attention!"

"Oh, but it's all so hard to concentrate when everyone just goes on and on and on-"

"Stop your whining! Bloody hell, you are annoying, I try to help and you just… _Francis_ keep your wandering hands to yourself!"

A new voice joined in the argument, his tone childish with mock hurt, "But L'Angleterre, I could not help but show my affection; you're always so cute when flushed and angry."

There was a feral growl before a sharp slapping sound was heard, followed by a yelp. America doubled over, holding his stomach as he laughed, watching as England and France started to argue, something that always entertained the spectators. His laugh was cut short however, as a hacking cough wracked his body, a short but violent burst that caught the other's attention.

"Alfred," England asked in a worried tone, the hand currently around the Frenchman's neck releasing so as to pat America's back soothingly. Francis watched in concern. "Are you alright, lad?"

"Fine," The coughs subsided but his voice cracked at the end. He made a show of clearing his throat before smiling at the two in front of him. "It's usually no problem; they just catch me off guard sometimes."

"You haven't been running a fever have you?"

"No, not since last year, but it seems to be coming back. Obama thought up of some new programs, maybe those will work, but we don't know yet."

"I'm sure he'll think of something, don't worry."

"Of course," Alfred's grin lit up his face; he was proud of his new boss. So far, things had been getting a little better; still a long way to go, but definitely better. "By the way, have you seen Canada? I have to ask him about his stupid health insurance. You know, my governments wanting to change that…"

"Oh, Mattieu, where are you, mon chéri," Francis called, looking around happily for his former colony of so long ago. "Come see your père!"

"I'm here, papa," A meek looking man stepped closer, his voice soft and barely audible over the many conversations around the room. Almost immediately the boy was crushed into a strong chest, light cologne assaulting his nose as the Frenchman gave him a hug.

"Alright, alright, you pervert, let go of the poor fellow!" Arthur yanked Francis back by the collar, giving a slight smile to Matthew as a greeting, which the blond returned with a nod. However, as soon as Francis was pulled away, Matthew was tackled yet again by a chipper American.

"Mattie, guess what, we're changing our health care!"

"So I heard-"

"And I want you to help tell everyone that it's a bad idea!"

"What? Why would-"

"I don't want to pay such high taxes and individual health care providers would get screwed and the next thing you know, my fast-food chains would be affected and- Communism!"

"Food chains? Communism? Alfred what-"

However, America was no longer paying attention to his brother; he was glaring and pointing ominously at a big, dark figure across the room. Ivan Braginski, or Russia, noticed the attention and directed a childish smile back to the group, causing shivers to cascade down their spines.

For a moment, the conversation lulled as the other occupants in the room sensed the tension, but it only lasted for a second as Ivan turned to speak to Ukraine. The others around the two seemed to relax. It was a usual occurrence for the two super powers to end the day in a brawl, regardless of the countries in between. They didn't think to question the good fortune that today wasn't one of those days.

Alfred looked back to the Canadian in his embrace. "Damn that commie is creepy."

"Yes well," Arthur cleared his throat. "I heard his economy hasn't been doing very well either."

"Since when?" Matthew asked, his question almost ignored seeing as he spoke so quietly, Alfred was the only one to hear.

With a bitter smile, the American ran his hand through his hair in an embarrassed manner, "My economy was the first to go down, and now it seems that everyone's following… Am I just that awesome?"

"Oh, don't get full of yourself."

Francis rested an arm over the Englishman's shoulders, ignorant of the warning looks given to him by several of the others present. "But if I was not imagining things, L'Angleterre, you were coughing as well during our break."

"I just… swallowed my drink the wrong way. Lay off, frog."

"Iggy, if you don't feel well, just say so. I'd hate it if you got sick because of me," Alfred's voice clearly showed his concern.

"It's fine!"

"No worries, mon chéri, I will take care of Arthur should he get ill!"

"I don't need you to, damn it!"

With another smile, Alfred looked around, seeing that the room had steadily emptied of people eagerly returning home. "I guess that's it then. I have to get home. Tony has probably stolen and hidden all my video games again. I don't know what he does with them, it's not like he has a game system."

"Yes, I must be returning as well. Goodbye Alfred, Matthew." Deliberately leaving out the Frenchman's name, the Briton shrugged off the arm and headed to the door. Francis stopped to wink at the North American brothers before following, starting another argument that resounded throughout the hallway.

Giving his brother another squeeze, Alfred picked up the manila folder that resembled everyone else's but for the tagged name "America" on its side. "Come on, Mattie."

"Kumagama is missing," The polar bear was probably pigging out under the provision table.

"Oh," Alfred made a face, most likely trying to remember exactly whom he was talking about. "Want me to help? After all, I am a hero!"

"N-no, I'll just see you later." Nothing else was said as America nodded, gave him an enthusiastic thumb up, and practically ran out the door. Canada shook his head in resignation, wondering how he had the patience to deal with the man that he called his brother most of the time.

Matthew turned to the cloth-covered table on the far side of the large room. It was covered in snacks, one from every country to be fair, and wasn't meant to be served for full course meals. It was mostly full of cookies, breads (even pancakes, to Matthew's delight), and fruits and vegetables. Standing next to the table, Canada gripped the white cloth in his hands and lifted it up to peer underneath. Just as he had predicted, his friend sat there, licking his paw for the remains of whatever he had eaten.

"Kumakichi," The white face glanced up, the large black eyes innocent.

"Who?"

"Canada," The man replied without hesitation, expecting the question; it was a well-known ritual. "It's time to go."

Shuffling out from under the table, the bear was picked up easily and the animal snuggled closely into his best friend and master's embrace. "Home," He asked.

"Yes. We're going home." Canada's hand absently ran through the animal's thick fur, coming up to scratch behind a small ear, much to Kumajirou's pleasure. With his own manila folder in hand, Canada made his way out of the conference room, traveling the empty hallways leisurely. His return flight to Ottawa was not until tomorrow and while he loved his home more than anything, the warm by comparison China weather was a nice change. As the host country for this meeting, Yao was kind enough to reserve a rather expensive hotel for them all; it would be a waste for China to have spent the money if Matthew wasn't going to use it until the end.

Slipping into the elevator, Canada recognized the Chinese symbols for "one" and pushed the button, watching the doors close and feeling the car descend to ground level. Walking past the lobby, Matthew shuffled through the automatic doors and to the curb, waving down a taxi. Despite his usual invisibility, he didn't have to wait long at all for a cab to spot him.

Opening the back passenger door, he slipped in and greeted the Chinese driver with a friendly "Ni hao," before digging into his pocket for a slip of paper stating the address of his hotel. The man looked at it, smiled, and spoke rapidly in his language, giving the paper back and shifting gears. Matthew didn't catch all of what was said, but he understood enough to know the man knew where he was going.

The drive was relatively short, and Matthew occupied himself with looking out the window. Beijing was a large city with amazingly tall buildings and many friendly people. There were plenty of interesting things to see, and he wondered if he would have time to explore later on. Although, he didn't know more than the most basic of Chinese… perhaps he could ask the hotel staff about popular tourist spots.

The cab slowed to a stop and Matthew was brought out of his thoughts to see the familiar building in which he was staying in. Pulling out his wallet, he took out the required amount specified on the meter and handed it over with a smile, thanking the man.

"Zai Jian," The man waved, and pulled away once Matthew shut the door, making his way inside the hotel. A woman made a startled sound as she noticed the bear held in Canada's grip but said nothing as he stepped into the elevator, traveling to the fifth floor and down the hall. Room 503 came into view and he pulled out his card key.

"Comrade Matvey."

The deep voice hiding behind a light tone made the Canadian shiver as he turned around, slightly surprised to see Ivan standing there, and even more surprised that the Russian would speak to him. "Yes?"

There was a long bout of silence as the large man simply stared, that smile never leaving his face. The wait only grew to suffocate Matthew and each second made the Canadian feel even more afraid of what the huge country could possibly want with _him_ of all people.

"Did you take notes on the European oil substitutions?"

Blinking in shock, Matthew wondered if the man really needed to be so intimidating if he just wanted to borrow some notes. "Yes. D-do you need to see them?"

That creepy smile only got larger, "Da. I am afraid I was… not paying attention at the time. Matvey would be kind enough to let me borrow them, da?"

Quickly looking down to the folder under his arm, he held it up to the large man before him, trying not to make eye contact. "Pages three and four, I b-believe. Um… Just give them back after you're done. Please."

Taking the folder in his huge hands, Russia nodded and with one last smile walked back the way he came. Matthew let out a shaky breath and held Kumajirou closer, shoving his card key into the slot and opening the door when the little light turned green. Firmly shutting it behind him, he sighed, relaxing against the dark wood. "That was only really scary."

"Don't like him?"

Peering down into his bears black eyes, Matthew had to smile, "He's intimidating, that's for sure." In all honesty, Matthew never spoke to the Russian. As far as he could tell they had a lot in common climate-wise, but Canada was hesitant to say he knew much else about Russia's place or its culture. "Anyway, why don't we pack now so we can relax until we leave tomorrow, eh?"

The bear made a movement similar to a nod and Matthew sat him on the floor where he clamored across the room and up onto the bed, curling up on the pillow. Rolling his eyes, Matthew sighed, knowing that Kumajirou wouldn't be much help without opposable thumbs anyway. He scuttled about, picking up papers and notes from the last three days worth of meetings as well as his personal belongings such as clothes and bathroom products. He was careful to put everything away in his suitcase neatly.

"Finally," He huffed, flopping next to Kumajirou lazily. Tired from the day, although he did nothing physically exhausting, Matthew cuddled into his friend's coarse pelt, hoping that he didn't catch whatever his brother had come down with. His throat was a little sore, his head a little stuffy. Overall, he definitely felt under the weather and only hoped it was a small dip in the economic charts. Perhaps he should call Harper later. His boss would know what was going on, most likely already doing something about it. A large yawn escaped him, and Kumajirou turned to flick his pink tongue across the country's eyebrow in a comforting gesture.

Smiling, Matthew wrapped an arm around his life-long friend; closing his eyes and slipping into a light sleep.

A loud jingle filled the air, waking him from his nap. With his violet eyes still closed, he fumbled through his khaki slacks to find his red phone currently singing and vibrating in his hand happily. Canada flipped it open and brought it to his ear, trying to sound polite even though he was a little aggravated, "'Hullo."

"Mattie," Matthew recognized the voice to be his brother, of all people. He bit back a groan; the nap did nothing to make him feel better. "Guess what!" Canada held the phone a little ways from his ear, the loud voice cutting through his headache like a knife, making it throb even more. Alfred didn't even wait for a reply, "You know Yao gave us tickets for a free dinner at this famous Chinese restaurant and everyone's invited! He set up reservations at six. So get up lil bro, and come join us for a wild night in Be-Jang!"

_Beijing, Alfred… really, _He thought. Turning around to look at the clock provided on the nightstand he noticed the time; five o'clock. He really did groan this time. "Al, I don't think-"

"Come on! Don't be such a fun-sucker!" He was about to protest again when Alfred interrupted him, as he always did. "If you don't show up I'm gonna go back to the hotel and drag your ass there myself!"

There was a pause. Matthew recognized a lost cause when he saw one. "Fine, I'll be there." On the other line, Alfred cheered. Matthew didn't know why he bothered. Alfred made such a big deal about dragging him out to have fun but then ignored him in favor of the other guests. It wouldn't be any different tonight. "See you then."

"Bye Mattie!"

Hanging up, Matthew sighed, thoroughly annoyed. Kumajirou looked at him. "Who?"

"Alfred wants me to go to this stupid outing. I just want to sleep."

"Family."

That caused Matthew to pause, family was important to him; the concept of bonds and love and having someone to trust. Ignored most of the time, Matthew grew to appreciate each and every moment spent with his loved ones, even if just for a second. "You're right, Kumamaru. Tired or not, I love them, they're family. A little economic trouble isn't going to stop me."

Smiling at his friend, Matthew sat up, blinking at the sudden ache of his body and bringing a hand up to rub at his temples. "Ok, first, I need to change into something more informal but still nice looking."

Rifling through the suitcase he packed not two hours ago, he took out a long sleeved light blue button-up shirt and some black slacks. Changing quickly, he combed his hair, though it didn't do much, and shrugged on a black suit jacket before picking up Kumajirou. He made sure he had his wallet, card key, and phone before walking out of his room.

The hallway was empty and quiet as Matthew made his way to the elevator. However, before he could push the button to call, a loud screech and bang filled the air, echoing through the hallway. It sounded close, and Matthew looked up and down the hall for the source but found nothing.

Then there was a low whine like someone had been hurt. Worried, Canada followed it, noticing an open door a few rooms down. Cautiously approaching it, Matthew peeked inside. It was dark and he didn't want to intrude if someone was inside. "Hello? Is anyone in there?"

Another bump, and Matthew was sure it was from inside. Stepping in the doorway, his arm brushed timidly across the wall, finding and turning on the light switch. The dark was suddenly gone and everything was illuminated; the bed, dresser, desk, TV, everything that Matthew had in his own room, down to the green swirly pattern of the nicely made sheets.

Movement from the side caught his eye and Matthew took a second to process what exactly he was seeing. Black boots, black pants, a beige overcoat, a long white scarf, pale blond hair… Canada gasped in shock as he stumbled into the room. Hurrying over to the man he knew to be Russia. Setting Kumajirou on the ground, he placed both hands on Ivan's shoulders, pulling with all his strength to roll the man onto his back.

Eyes closed, and face scrunched up in pain, Ivan panted, his breaths ragged and wet as if he were choking on something before a violent cough shook his massive body with force. Slightly panicking, Matthew felt the man's face, his own eyes widening at the heat; Ivan was burning up! Leaping to his feet, Matthew ran to the adjoined bathroom, grabbing a towel and dampening it with water before shooting out and landing at Russia's side, wrapping the cool cloth around the man's head.

Looking the man over, Canada took in the situation. Clearly, Ivan's economy was worse than everyone thought. Such a heavy cough, high fever; enough to bring Ivan to the floor. Russia had to be in bad shape for him to have such symptoms. Moreover, his attire must not be helping. They were in China, a lot warmer than the arctic climate Canada and Russia were used to, and yet Ivan still wore his winter gear. _It must be his fever. He needs to cool down._ Carefully but quickly, Matthew unwound the scarf, setting it to the side and starting to unbutton the thick heavy winter coat the man wore.

"Что ты делаешь?"

Matthew looked back to Russia's face, seeing dark violet eyes glaring at him with such malice that it practically stopped his heart. Canada had no idea what the man said and that look was enough to chill him to the bone and give him nightmares for a few days, but Ivan's state was not to be ignored. With shaking hands, he continued fumbling with the buttons, "Y-you're running a h-high fever. You need to take this o-off."

"Нет, оставь меня в покое."

"I d-don't understand you-"

"Leave me alone," Ivan snarled, violet-red eyes hard, belaying all kinds of threats should his words not be obeyed. And Matthew hardly had to think about what those threats entailed, everything from torture to outright destruction. His fingers stopped at the last button, truly wondering if helping the Russian was worth it, seeing as he would probably die as soon as the man got better, and he would. No matter how sick a country got from the declining economy, it was impossible to die from it. In time, Russia would be perfectly fine. So why risk his life?

_Impossible to die from or not, when you're sick, you're sick. And this looks bad._ Having been sick before during the Great Depression (Alfred's troubles had essentially been his as well at the time), Matthew knew how much it hurt; he sure felt as if he were dying. While this was certainly not as bad as what the North American brothers suffered from back then, he wasn't be able to turn his back on any country like this.

Swallowing his nervousness and trying to appear unafraid and determined, Matthew looked into the dark eyes filled with hatred, fully intent on ripping him apart. "Just let me help."

With a twist of his hand, the last button on the coat was undone, and Matthew pulled it open, struggling to get it off the huge man.

"I don't need your-"

"Please stop speaking," And later on, Matthew would wonder just where the courage came from, to interrupt Russia so suddenly, and without a single stutter. Even so, the words were more whispered than anything, as his normal tone of voice wouldn't allow his pitch to change. The authority must have shocked both of them, because Ivan remained quiet, though the glare stayed on his face, perhaps grew even darker, if that was possible.

A long sleeved, white shirt was worn underneath the coat, so decency was no problem, but Canada subconsciously realized that he had never seen the man without the thick clothing before. Then again, Canada had never been so close to the other either. The man's shoulders were broad, his chest hard with muscle and his arms extremely strong; he could so easily break him in half. Gulping back his fear, Matthew finally succeeded in taking off the coat and throwing it to the side with the scarf.

Firmly avoiding eye contact, the Canadian carefully situated the towel on the man's head. "I'm going to get some water."

Walking back into the bathroom he looked around for a bowl of some kind. A coffee maker, to the side of the sink caught his eye; it was placed on a ceramic dish that could hold water easily. He picked it up and filled it with cool water from the sink. Bringing it with him back to the room, passing Ivan on the floor and placing it carefully onto the bedside table, Matthew turned to the Russian. Cold eyes made contact with his, and the Canadian hesitantly shifted closer. "I'm going to lift you up, onto the bed… okay?"

There was no answer and Matthew bent down, taking an arm and putting it around his shoulders. Ivan's muscles tensed, sliding around his thin neck in warning, like a massive snake ready to strangle its prey should it choose to do so. Matthew shook, successfully cowered and from the corner of his eye, he saw Ivan smile. Deciding to ignore that, he took a deep breath and pulled the man up.

Significantly heavy and completely dwarfing the smaller blond he leaned against, Ivan got to his feet and made it to the bed, collapsing onto it with a small grunt. Both of them panting from the strain that little adventure took. Matthew then retrieved the towel that had fallen in the travel. He dipped it in the bowl, squeezing the excess water from it before dabbing at Russia's face. He wiped the mans reddened cheeks and neck before the Russian snarled at him again, "Stop touching me!"

"S-stop yelling, eh? It'll bring down the fever." He brushed Ivan's brow but suddenly froze as a large hand wrapped around his wrist, the pressure builing slowly, the bones in the Canadian's hand grinding together, "S-stop, Russia, please."

"Я сказал, не прикасайся комне."

The vice-like grip tightened and Matthew yelped looking into the violet eyes filled with the intent to fully break him. And Matthew was afraid.

A feral growl sounded and a white blur tackled the Russian's offending arm with savage rage. Sharp teeth broke through skin and Ivan's eyes widened in surprise and pain before he quickly withdrew. Canada cradled his throbbing wrist as Kumajirou stood on the bed, a small but vicious thing standing up against all of Russia with his hackles raised and teeth bared. Blood dripped from his white muzzle and looking at Ivan, Matthew saw a patch of red growing on the man's forearm, seeping through the sleeve.

For a moment, Ivan eyed the creature with shock; whether from the fact that a polar bear was in his room, or that it dared to attack him, Matthew had no clue, but strangely, the anger did not return. Ivan's gaze returned to Matthew and stayed there for a second, as if seeing him for the first time since he'd found him like this, and then he lay back, staring at the ceiling. "Do what you want."

Well, Matthew didn't know what to say about that. Warily, he approached the bed again; comforted by Kumajirou's soothing lick on his hand once he was close enough. Hesitantly, Canada took the towel in his grip and dipped it in water once more. He was more careful in his ministrations this time; his movements slow and pressure light as he ran the cool cloth over the man's hot face. Ivan didn't as much as twitch; his blank expression fixed on the ceiling.

At one point Matthew went to the bathroom to search for a first-aid kit of some sort. It was standard safety procedure to have one, wasn't there? Correct he was. Under the sink was a small white case full of antiseptic and bandages. Returning with it in hand, Matthew sat on the edge of the bed and spoke quietly, "I need to clean your arm."

Like before, there was no answer, and Matthew slowly moved to pull the man's sleeve up. He was careful to avoid touching the marks as he examined them. Polar bears had a tendency to rip the flesh they bit into, causing major tears that were very hard to heal and usually left deep scars. Thankfully, these were nowhere near so dangerous, they wouldn't even need stitches.

With a fresh towel ready, he soaked it in alcohol and held it over the wound. "This may hurt, Russia." Nothing but silence answered him.

Matthew brought the towel down and lightly, but thoroughly started to clean the gashes. Ivan's eyes broke from the ceiling to watch Canada work, but his face showed no pain. Finished with the cleaning, Matthew took a roll of adhesive bandaging and wrapped it comfortably, but tightly around the injury. "Ok," He paused as he put the things back in the first-aid kit neatly. "Um, were you planning on going to the Chinese dinner tonight?"

It took a long time for Ivan to answer, and Matthew wondered if he planned to keep up this silent treatment for the rest of the night. "Da. I was on my way when I suddenly… couldn't breathe."

Matthew's eyes widened as everything started to come together. "Wait… How long have you been sick?"

His eyes darkened slightly, "Why would you want to know?"

"Because you hadn't really been yourself lately," The look Ivan gave him made him rush in order to explain himself. "You usually speak up more during meetings. But these past three days, you've barely spoken at all. And yesterday it looked like you were about to fall asleep. Not to mention you wanted to borrow my notes; you're usually so attentive."

The dark gaze turned back to the ceiling. "I have been unwell for a few weeks."

"Didn't you tell anyone?"

The deadly glare was back with a fire, "Why would I tell anyone? It is not like they can do anything about it."

"Well, no, but they can certainly help you."

"No, they can't."

A flash of anger entered Canada's own eyes. "Don't say that. You'd still be on the floor if I wasn't here." A snarled sentence in Russian was ignored, Matthew didn't understand anyway. "Besides, you have family! Ukraine would have been here in a second if she heard her little brother was sick."

Ivan didn't respond to that, merely continued to stare darkly at the Canadian as he had before; the resolution to hurt in his eyes. Matthew stayed out of reach. "A-anyway, I can call my brother and ask for him to pick something up for us, since I d-don't think it would be a good idea for you to move."

"Don't bother."

A small glare of his own was sent Ivan's way. "I have no idea why you're being so hostile, I don't expect _gratitude _or anything, but you could at least be nice to the person trying to help."

"I don't need your help. And if you don't like it, you can leave at any time."

Huffing in annoyance Matthew crossed his arms over his chest and pointedly looked away, "Fine, be a jerk, but it's only going to make things difficult for both of us, because I'm not just going to leave." Turning around so he couldn't see the massive country emitting a rage that would haunt his nightmares for days, Canada fished through his pocket for his phone.

America was on speed dial two (one was reserved for Harper but Alfred got in so much trouble he deserved number two at least). He held it to his ear and sighed, his headache coming back with force now that the excitement was winding down. "Hey Mattie! Where are you, you're thirty minutes late!"

"Al, I decided not to go-"

"You have to!"

"But I'm not feeling well," And he held his breath as Alfred processed the words. It wasn't a lie, but Alfred seemed to have a brother complex at times and he didn't want America to freak out and play nurse-Canada-back-to-health (translated to: sit in his room and play games at maximum volume while Matthew struggled to get some sleep).

"You seemed fine earlier, are you alright? Do you need me to come by?"

"No, I've just got a really bad headache and I think it would be better if I slept. You have fun though!" There was a sound of disappointed acceptance and Matthew continued, knowing he would regret his words later. "But I was wondering if you could be my hero and pick me up some good Chinese food."

"Of _course_ I will! I won't let you down Mattie! What do you want? I'll get you whatever you need!"

"Two orders of whatever you thought were the best. One for me, and one for Kumawaro, okay?" Kumajirou already had his food; a couple of fresh fish packed away in the mini-refrigerator back in his room. Walking to the front door, he peeked out to look at the brass plating nailed to the wood. "The room number is 510, can you remember that?"

"Yeah, a hero never forgets! I'll be there in twenty minutes, so get a lot of rest, lil bro."

"Okay Al."

Hanging up, Matthew shut the door and shuffled back to the bed in which Ivan lay in, precariously sitting on the corner of the mattress and refreshing the towel on the Russian's forehead. "You didn't tell him about me."

Matthew shrugged, "I don't think you want anyone to know about this. Besides, Alfred would only be rude about it."

"Da. So stay quiet."

Inwardly rolling his eyes, Matthew stood and returned to the bathroom for the third time, coming back with a glass of water. "You should drink."

Ivan was able to prop himself up with his elbow, taking the glass and downing it in one go. "I would rather vodka."

"That's hardly something that would help you get over your sickness."

"It is Russian water."

"Only it's not water at all," Matthew stifled a laugh, but was quickly cut short by the dark look Ivan sent him, "Désolé."

The glare turned into a look of puzzlement. "That is French, da?"

"Y-yes, I used to be Francis's colony. It's my second language."

Violet eyes roamed his figure as Ivan took notice of the blond, slightly wavy hair, the pale complexion, and violet-blue eyes. "Who are you?"

Blinking in shock, Matthew simply stared at the man he'd been taking care of for the last hour; the Russian spoke to him just today, asked for his notes, and already he had been forgotten? Biting back his irritation; Matthew spoke calmly, "I'm Canada. Matthew Williams." A few more seconds of silence, Kumajirou looked up from his curled up position at the foot of the bed.

"Who?"

The calm facade was gone and Matthew groaned in frustration. "Canada! Ca-Na-Da!"

"Oh! Comrade Matvey, da!"

Bringing a hand up to rub at his pounding head, Matthew wondered where he would bury the bodies when he finally decided to lose his sanity.

…Thank You…

It's been quite a while since I've written anything, and this is my first Hetalia story so I hope you like it. I have some big plans, but the plot will be slow coming.

_Beta Wanted!_ – I need someone who will be happy to do some grammar checks (ABC check doesn't get everything); this person needs to be honest in their suggestions about the characters in particular. I'm always worried about them being too out of character. So if you're interested, PM me, please.

Other than that, I do want to warn people that eventually, this will be yaoi. A long way down the road, (we have to give Russia's heart some time to melt, eh) but it'll be there. And the rating is for the cussing and references to sex and such.

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Hetalia or anything else included that I may have mentioned that does not belong to me (I definitely do not own countries).

I'm sorry for historical inaccuracy… and botched up language skills I do not have.

_Translations:_ If the characters understand each other, it will be in the text itself. (Example) We still don't know what Ivan said since Matthew doesn't. Regardless, it'll all be here just in case.

L'Angleterre (French): England

Mon chéri (French): My Darling

Père (French): Father

Ni Hao (Chinese): Hello

Zai Jian (Chinese): Goodbye

Что ты делаешь (Russian): What are you doing?

Нет, оставь меня в покое (Russian): No, Leave me alone

Я сказал, не прикасайся комне (Russian): I said don't touch me

Désolé (French): Sorry


	2. Холод: Cold

Chapter 2: Холод: Cold

For the next ten minutes Matthew and Ivan waited in silence. Every once in a while, Canada would get the courage to wipe Ivan's face and neck with the cool towel or check the wound on his arm. If he stayed for too long though, Ivan would snap at him and Matthew would make a hasty retreat.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door and Matthew got up to answer, looking through the peek hole to make sure it was America (because if it was anyone else who knew that this was indeed _not_ his room, but Russia's, there would be a lot of questions). He opened the heavy door with a slight smile, "Hey Al."

"Mattie," The younger brother was pulled into a hug. "Why didn't you tell me sooner that you were sick?"

"It came out of nowhere, really. But I'm alright, a little recession I'm sure."

Alfred released him, putting a hand to his forehead. "Well, you're not running a fever. You know, Arthur and Francis didn't show up to the dinner either. Apparently, England got worse. France is probably having his wicked way with his sick, defenseless body as we speak."

"Alfred!"

"What?"

"I really don't want to hear that."

The American snickered. "Anyway," He held up a large plastic bag. "Two Stir-fry spicy beef stuff… I don't know what it's called, but it's really good!"

Smiling, Matthew took the food. "Thanks Al. And um… don't tell papa that I'm not feeling good, please. I really don't want him to worry over nothing."

"No problem, but if you need anything, tell me. I'll be your hero Mattie! Like Superman, or Batman- but he doesn't have any superpowers… he's still kickass though! I can be Spiderman or my all time favorite Captain America! That's such an awesome name don'tcha think?"

"Bye, Alfred," Matthew replied, shutting the door with a roll of his eyes. Traveling back to the bed he saw Ivan's stare; a thin eyebrow rising as if to ask, 'just what was that?' and Matthew couldn't help but laugh embarrassedly. "He'll always go off on a tangent like that." Clearing his throat, he looked through the bag and pulled out two Styrofoam boxes. He gave one to Ivan along with a pair of packaged chop sticks and sat the other one down on the desk for himself. "Um… I was thinking." Ivan glanced up from his upright position, snapping apart the utensils and ready to eat. "Have you spoken to your boss about the economy? Is he doing something about it?"

"Of course, Medvedev has been working on this for a while. The oil is good, trade is good, and the battle with Georgia is nothing, but luck is not there, da? And your brother does not make it better."

"Oh… Yeah, I don't suppose he would." Covering his mouth, Matthew felt a short few coughs tear through his throat and he went to the bathroom to refill two glasses of water. When he returned he was faced with another of Ivan's strange expressions. Was it Curiosity?

"You don't seem very healthy either, Matvey."

Blushing from embarrassment, Matthew handed a glass of water to the Russian before taking his place at the desk chair, opening his own food as his stomach growled. "I wasn't lying when I said I wasn't feeling well. But things aren't very bad, just a little trouble." He took a few bites of his meal, praising the taste before continuing. "In 2008 I was really sick; Alfred and I both. But the housing market is slowly recovering and the Auto-industry is getting used to some changes. I think it's the banks that are getting to me; they're still in need of bail." He sighed, "My banks were some of the most stable in the world too."

Ivan said nothing as the two ate in silence and Matthew was thankful. Rising from his chair after he was finished, he cleaned up his mess and threw the empty box in the garbage bin. "I'm going to get Kumatachi's food, so um… Can I borrow your card key?"

"I'm not going to get rid of you?"

"Not yet," The Canadian felt good about helping the man, despite his rude and scary demeanor. It just wasn't in him to abandon someone who could use the help.

Those cold violet eyes locked with his and Matthew's determination was hard pressed to stay. "It is in my coat pocket." Turning to the fallen clothing, Matthew picked it up and rifled through it, surprised to find a full bottle of vodka and a rough brown, leather wallet. He was about to set the vodka down on the desk when Ivan spoke, "Give that to me."

"It's not really healthy to-"

"Comrade Matvey, I was not asking."

Slightly miffed, he draped the coat onto the back of the desk chair, the scarf soon joined it. Almost stomping back to the Russian, he handed both the bottle of alcohol and the wallet to him. It was obvious that the man took delight in his annoyance, for a creepy smile of satisfaction crossed his face as he twisted the cap off and brought the bottle to his lips, taking huge swigs. By the time he was finished almost one-third of a full _liter_ of vodka was gone. Matthew could only gape. "Your people are going to die of liver failure."

"Нет, they have always been fine. It is Russian water, remember?"

"If you say so," Canada muttered. Ivan opened his wallet, took out the card key and handed it over with a glare.

"Be quick."

"O-oui. Stay here Kumaro," Quickly leaving the room, he traveled the empty hall at a fast pace, getting his own cardkey from his pocket. He opened the door and fretted about, pulling out the brown package that held his friend's dinner. He took a change of clothes out of his bag as well, removing the ones he had on to fit into some that were more comfortable; blue jeans and his most trusted red hoodie. After all, he would be taking care of Ivan for a couple more hours and it was already late. Tomorrow he would have to be sure to tell Ukraine about her brother's health. He wondered if she already knew, they were close, but if so, why hadn't she been over to watch him?

Canada's relations with Ukraine were very good, if he was to be so bold to say; they were friends. And with the woman's caring personality, it was clear that she cared very much for her little brother. She said only the highest of praises and had a lot of respect for Russia, despite her independence after the separation of the USSR. He had no doubt that she would be at her brother's side if she knew about his sickness. So that meant Russia had been hiding it from her. _Hiding it from everyone apparently,_ He thought dryly. _Well, he certainly has a lot of enemies, so it would be wise not to broadcast his weakened economy, but it could also be dangerous. If things get much worse, it would help a lot more if he had support. Ukraine would easily agree to that._

And his process of thought stopped as he realized just what that would entail. _Russia obviously wants to pull out of this himself, without support from anyone. He is very prideful, after all._

Shaking his head in sympathy, Matthew sighed and sorted through his options. If Russia didn't get better, what could he do? Besides the obvious of just handing out bail money… he could call Harper; maybe if their bosses got together, they could figure something out. _Russia wouldn't agree with that. And I don't want to sound like I'm giving him charity money. He'd be absolutely furious._

Deciding to forget about it for now, he hurriedly threw his worn clothes into the bag before leaving the room and casually walking back to Ivan's. Nothing changed, he found. Kumajirou still lying on the bed, he looked to be sleeping but woke up quickly when he came in; most likely anticipating his meal. Ivan himself remained where he was left; sitting up against the headboard of the bed, violet eyes watching him carefully. The vodka bottle looked even emptier than before.

He gave the cardkey back first, avoiding the Russian's eyes as he leaned down to Kumajirou, unwrapping his dinner. "When we get home I'll buy you some seal. I know you don't particularly like fish."

"Good."

Smiling affectionately, Matthew sat the four fish down on the floor watching his friend eat them in just a few bites. "He is not a normal bear, da?" Ivan asked.

"No, he's like us. I've been with him for as long as I can remember; before I was a colony."

"Family," Kumajirou mumbled around his food, and Matthew nodded happily, agreeing with all his being. The others forgot about him; his papa, England, even his brother, but not Kumajirou. They might not remember each other's name, but they've always had a connection.

He was suddenly reminded about Russia's family and he looked up at said nation, "You should tell your sister," He said softly, not wanting to make him angry. "She'd be worried if she knew-"

"That's exactly why I don't want her to know. She would never leave me alone."

"Only because she cares, she talks about you a lot, you know."

Ivan took a moment to let the words sink in before looking directly at the Canadian. "What does she say?"

Smiling sadly, Matthew made eye contact, "You've helped her a lot over the swine flu panic. As her little brother, your words were a lot more meaningful than mine. She was really, very worried about it; the financial crisis, elections, and the sickness. I sent lots of support as well, but I think your boss's speech did so much more." He paused, seeing the blank expression on Ivan's face. "She has a lot of respect for you, and I think she worries about you a lot."

"Da. She does."

Leaving it at that, Matthew cleaned up Kumajirou's carcasses and threw them away. He sat down on the desk chair with the bear on his lap, picking up the TV remote nearby. "Let's watch some news, eh?"

"The Russian channel is 610, perhaps they will show a change in the charts, da."

"Okay," Putting it on the specified program, Matthew watched by vision alone as he couldn't understand anything that was said. Ivan's attention remained on the television, and every once in a while he would switch between taking a swig of the vodka in his hand or cough with what sounded like rough sandpaper scraping the back of his throat.

Matthew would twitch at the sound and debate on whether he should check the man's fever or not. The towel was still on the Russian's forehead, probably dry and useless by now, but Matthew forced himself to stay seated. With the way Ivan glared at the screen it was clear that he did not like what was being said and the waves of murderous rage was enough to keep the Canadian very still and quiet, hoping that his 'great superpower of invisibility' (he was too influenced by Alfred) would work when he wanted it to.

Time went by and Matthew's concentration was broken by a yawn. He wasn't so focused on the TV anymore, and he had long tried to avoid the psychotic man on the bed who he was afraid would go on a rampage sometime soon. Very slowly, his eyes closed, his head leaned back on the chair. It wasn't very comfortable, but with his own body aching and his stuffy head yelling at him to sleep, it wasn't very hard to obey.

…oOo…

The first thing he realized upon waking was the pounding of his head; a steady rhythm of banging that he just wanted to stop before his skull cracked. Opening his eyes, he hissed as the light made it even worse, but he recognized where he was and he also found out firsthand how the hotel provided desk chairs were _not_ meant to be slept in. His neck cricked as he lifted it up and the room spun. His back seemed permanently hunched over and he stood up from the position to stretch, noticing more aches and pains and just adding them to the list.

He looked around, finding Kumajirou curled up on the bed near Ivan's head, stealing some of the pillows. He would have smiled, because for a second, it seemed so cute and it was really just like his friend to abandon all pretences and sleep wherever was the most comfortable. But the Russian's expression took away all humor from the situation.

He was still sleeping, but fitfully; sweat made his skin glisten and his hair was plastered to his face and neck which were rosy with heat. Covered in the thick blankets, Ivan had curled in on himself to keep the heat in his body, something that wasn't helping seeing as his massive frame shook with fever-induced shivers.

Matthew jumped into action, refilling the bowl of still water from the night before with cool, fresh water, and grabbing a new towel. He tore the covers away from the nation which was replied with a groan and started to wipe his face down. Sighing when he felt the heat radiating from the Russian's body he thought of what he could do; simply using a towel was not helping, he needed a cool bath. That would certainly do the trick, but not only could he not lift the giant nation, but he was afraid of impalement once the man woke up.

He practically jumped a few feet in the air when a knock sounded at the door. _Oh no, what do I do?_

"Брат," A voice called, and Matthew recognized it to be Russian for brother, _Ukraine!_ "Are you there? We were supposed to have breakfast, remember?"

Looking from the door to the prone man on the bed, he wondered if it was worth it to go against what Ivan had said last night and tell Katyusha about his state. She could definitely help him get his fever down. He made a split second decision and ran to the door, opening it with a deep breath to face a mightily surprised Ukraine.

"Oh… Matvey. What are you doing in братской room?"

Rushing to explain (because one could jump to plenty of conclusions), he blushed in embarrassment, "He's sick. I found him yesterday and he didn't look very well at all so I stayed. But his fever is back and I can't get it down. Can you help me?"

There was no hesitation and Matthew could see fear in her eyes as she dashed past him and into the room. Together they sat him up and half carried half dragged him into the small bathroom. Matthew turned on the faucet at a low temperature, not cold but definitely not hot as Katyusha struggled to get her brother unclothed.

Ivan mumbled something and Katyusha spoke to him in low, comforting tones as she and Matthew each took a side. Wrapping his arms around Ivan's torso, Matthew looked to Ukraine who hugged Russia's legs. Hoisting him up and over the edge of the tub, they set him down in the water much to his distress.

"Холодно!"

_Cold_, he took a towel and brushed the Russian's brow. "Désolé. You'll be alright."

"G-General Winter… found m-me."

"Non, it'll be over soon."

Katyusha spoke again in their shared language and Ivan seemed to comprehend because he gave a slight nod. They had a short conversation and Matthew suddenly realized what he was doing, and with who. _I'm taking care of Russia, of all people, sitting next to him while he's bathing!_ Nervous, and blushing as hard as a tomato, Canada turned to Ukraine. "I-I'm going to wait outside. Tell me when you want me to h-help him out."

She nodded and gave a little smile despite the obvious concern that took over her face. "Thank you Matvey. And could you do me a favor?" He waited expectantly, "Could you possibly help pack? I think it best if I take him home. We had separate flights but, at this state I believe I should stay with him."

Happy to oblige, Matthew walked out and shut the bathroom door behind him. Packing certainly gave him a chance to sort out his thoughts and he wondered what else he could do to help. Picking up his cell phone, he dialed a number he knew well, waiting for the other person to pick up. "Harper speaking, is that you Matthew?"

"Y-yes, um… Something came up and I wanted to say that I may not be back for a couple more days."

"Oh? What's holding you back?"

"Y-you see sir, Russia isn't doing so well. And I was going to help Ukraine support him."

There was silence on the other line, then a disbelieving "What?"

"We can help stabilize Russia's economy, eh- sir. I mean, if you spoke to Medvedev, I'm sure-"

"We have our own problems to worry about, Canada."

"I-I know but… We're on good relations with Russia."

"Good as in, hardly there, yes."

Canada frowned, "We're both in G8, we're the most Northern nations, we both have arctic climates, and I thought we were working on an Intergovernmental Economic Commission. Wouldn't now be the best time to help?"

There was a sigh on the other line, and something that sounded like a shuffle of papers, "I'll contact Medvedev and see what we can do."

"Okay, thank you."

"Just keep in contact."

The line went dead, and Matthew knew his boss was aggravated but he was also happy that his government would send support. Even though they weren't exactly seeing eye-to-eye lately, Harper could be trusted with this; there was no doubt that he could handle things.

Continuing to pack, Matthew sat everything neatly by the bed and grabbed Ivan's cardkey from the bedside table. "Stay here," he told Kumajirou. "If Katyusha comes out tell her I'm getting my stuff. I won't be long."

Opening the door, he peered out into the hallway, looking both ways to make sure it was clear before rushing out. In his own room, he picked up his bags, thanking the heavens that he had the foresight to pack yesterday. He took a moment to brush his teeth and brush his hair before gathering everything up and stepping out of his room.

"Ah, America!"

Knowing he was being spoken to, even if he wasn't America, he glanced up and hesitantly smiled at Francis as he came over. "I'm Canada, papa."

His blue eyes widened and a bright smile came across his face, "I knew that, mon chéri." An arm draped over his shoulders. "Now, why don't we go get some breakfast? Arthur and Alfred are coming!"

"N-no thank you, I'm about to leave." He held up his suitcase for emphasis and shyly moved out from under France's arm. "Got a plane to catch," He lied. His cheeks grew red and he averted his eyes; he really was a bad liar, but he hoped Francis wouldn't catch on, for once. If France knew what he was doing… well, he wouldn't necessarily care, but he would tell Arthur and Alfred and _they _would more than care.

"Are you sure? Why so soon? Spend time with your dear père!" That innocent smile was gone and an almost lecherous grin replaced it, which kind of scared Matthew. The look on Francis's face usually ended up with someone's vital regions seized reminiscent of one Gilbert Weillschmidt. Or Spain… or even South Korea. So many nations were grope-happy it was insane. _Imperialism gets the better of all of us, I suppose._ It was the nation's equivalent to hormones.

"Désolé, papa, but I really must go," He said, backing away slowly. "Um… My best wishes to Arthur, I hope he gets well soon."

"Oui, if you're sure. And I'll be sure to tell L'Angleterre. Papa will miss you," And with a wave, Matthew turned around and speed-walked down the hallway, looking over his shoulder as Francis did the same. As the nation who colonized him turned the corner down the hall, Canada opened Russia's door and stepped inside with haste. "Katyusha, is everything okay?"

"Yes, Matvey, we're fine. I think he's ready to get out now," She said from behind the bathroom door, and Matthew set his bags down to help. Walking into the bathroom, he froze in fear as Ivan's eyes bore into his own. The Russian must certainly be feeling better if he was able to produce so much hatred by just making eye contact. "Help him stand and I'll dry him off."

It took a second for Canada to get control of his legs as he stumbled closer to his death. Slowly, he extended his hand, slightly proud of himself for not so much as flinching when Ivan took it in his grasp. The hand was so much bigger than his own and though the Russian was obviously still weak, the pressure built enough to which Matthew knew there would be bruises tomorrow. Coupled with the discolored marks on his wrists from last night, his right arm would be black and blue by the end of the day.

Despite the pain from his hand, Matthew pulled Russia up so he could stand, helping him step out of the tub as Katyusha came forth with a big fluffy towel. She was quick to dry him off, as he was still shivering slightly. Together, they got him dressed, Matthew touching as little of the man as possible, and careful to keep his eyes above waist line for privacy.

The entire time, he was more than aware of violet eyes watching his every move. Each second of silence built up his fear and he imagined how he would die. Burned alive, tortured, impaled, his eyes ripped out, his hands cut off, whipped, scarred, starved, alone…

"A-alright," His voice was much quieter than even he was used to, and it wavered at the end. Ivan and Katyusha didn't seem to hear. _Ugh, pull yourself together! You're the second largest country, you're trying to help, and you're strong!_ He cleared his throat and put on a front of determination, "So, should I call a cab?"

"Yes please," Katyusha replied. And Matthew did so on his phone quickly, speaking what little Chinese he could. That done, they gathered their stuff, Katyusha noticing his there as well, "You are coming with us?"

"Yes. I figured I'd help you get him home." From over Ukraine's shoulder, Ivan gave him a heated glare that sent shivers of terror down Matthew's spine. He coughed, trying to hide it.

"That's great Matvey! Thank you!"

Ivan growled when they came near him and stood up on his own. "I'll walk myself."

"Брат, don't strain yourself-"

"I won't," He interrupted her. Noticeably, his gaze was a bit softer as he looked at her, his eyes not holding the same threat they did when directed at Canada, but his tone left no room for argument, and Ukraine nodded, worried.

He might've be walking on his own, but Canada wouldn't let him carry his own suitcase as he slung his bag over his shoulder, carrying the other in his left hand. They traveled out of the room, waited achingly in the elevator and journeyed to the lobby, where Ukraine headed to the concierge desk with all their cardkeys to check out. Immediately after his sister was out of ear shot, Ivan's hand came down on his right shoulder (it was always the right!). And once again, the force that left bruises was applied and Matthew couldn't help but squeak.

"I told you to keep quiet about me being sick. You told her," His voice was in a deadly whisper, calmly stating how he was very _displeased_ with Matthew at the moment.

Canada turned his head slightly, but didn't look at Russia's face, "I didn't know what else to do, and you were practically catatonic. I needed to cool you down; your fever was dangerously high. And I couldn't very well move you by myself! She knocked on the door and… She should have known anyway."

The hand squeezed even tighter, he was definitely angry as all hell, and Matthew was sure he was going to die very, very soon. But then Ukraine turned around and the hand was gone along with the vibes of murder that had been suffocating Canada, almost like they were never there. "We'll speak of this later."

_Why do I have to be so nice all the time? I wouldn't be in this mess if I had just left him alone like he asked, I'm so stupid._

Matthew calmly picked up the luggage and followed Ukraine out the door to the yellow cab waiting for them outside.

The ride was tense and quiet all the way to the nearest airport and Ivan kept swaying in between them, looking motion sick and firmly ignoring their questions of whether they should stop or not. Even when they arrived, bought their tickets, went through security and the dreadful waiting that took up a total of three hours, Ivan remained stubbornly quiet and grew quite hostile if provoked, _like a wild animal._

And, of course, the airport security officers wanted to give Matthew hell for bringing a polar bear on the plane. He showed them the papers, they made calls, they believed everything was legal and authentic, and yet they had a fit about proper protocols of having a leash or putting him in a traveling cage.

Canada would have none of it, and by the time the third hour of waiting rolled around, he snapped. "Look, you have your papers! They says it's perfectly fine for him to be on the plane with me. He doesn't need a leash and if you dare to try and put him in a cage you'll be in big trouble. Now don't you have a job to do? Stop bothering me!"

They scurried off and Katyusha laughed in surprise. "So even Canada can get angry?"

Blushing in embarrassment, he mumbled something they couldn't hear, holding Kumajirou close to his chest. Their plane finally arrived and they boarded with relief. Only after they got settled in, did Matthew realize that he had never been to Russia. His boss had of course, but not him.

Fiddling with Kumajirou's ear nervously, he wondered again just what he had gotten himself into. Here he was, with Russia (who was going to kill him, he was sure), spending a few days on _his_ land, taking care of him while he was sick… already his whole right arm was sore; if the Russian abused it anymore it would be next to useless. Not to mention, Matthew was sick himself. And nobody but Harper knew where he was… nobody would know if he was kidnapped, chopped into little pieces and buried in Ivan's backyard.

He was scaring himself, Ivan was frightening as all hell, but they were both nations, he was safe, right? Looking to the man next to him, he jumped when Ivan's eyes locked with his. Their eyes had similar colors, he realized; a purple-fuchsia hue. The only difference… well, Ivan had the eyes of a bloodthirsty criminal. And his next victim was sadly Matthew himself.

...Author's Note…

Thank you for reading! And to those who reviewed; thank you very much for your complements. I hope I don't disappoint.

Still looking for a Beta; if you're interested, give me a message.

And please let me know what you think of their characters. Surprisingly, it's not too hard to write Ivan (I'm actually having fun making him so mean to everyone), but its Matthew I'm worried about.

And in general, just tell me what you think! Bad, good, I want some opinions. Just know that it's going to be kind of slow in the beginning, their relationship needs to build up more. :)

Happy readings everyone!

_Translations:_

Брат (Russian): Brother

Братской (Russian): Brother's

Холодно (Russian): It's cold

Désolé (French): Sorry

Non (French): No

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Hetalia or anything else copyrighted that I may have mentioned. I make no money from this.


	3. Ici: Here

Chapter 3: Ici: Here

Throughout the journey to Moscow, Matthew's survival instincts screamed at him to get the hell out of there. Everything would be fine when Ukraine was around, but then there were times when she went to the bathroom or stepped away to use the phone, and then Ivan's seemingly normal appearance would turn deadly. His threatening presence would make Matthew want to run all the way to America or England, screaming like a little girl, begging for forgiveness and crying hysterically. With every second he regretted his decision to _help_.

But that wasn't the worse of it… oh no. The travel from the plane, into a cab, and all the way to Russia's house (more like castle) was fairly easy compared to the little incident given to him by the one person who was suppose to keep him safe, and _alive_. "You're going?" His voice squeaked at the end and Ukraine looked at him curiously.

"I'm sorry, but my boss called, saying something came up. I need to get back, but I know you can handle everything, Canada. I'm so very relieved you decided to come, I know my brother will be okay with you here; besides I'll be back in three days-"

"T-Three…" _Mon Dieu,_ He was going to faint. Out of his peripheral vision, Ivan's childish smile played across his face.

"Do not worry sister, Matvey and I will be fine, da?"

Was he the only one who noticed the tone; the one that hinted at his slow and painful death? _Is this what the Baltic States had to put up with? _He suddenly had a lot more respect for the three, somewhat unnoticeable nations that always seemed seconds away from tears.

"Alright," Ukraine conceded. "But if you need anything, just give me a call." _Don't go!_

Putting on a smile that was as deceiving as Ivan's, Matthew waved as Katyusha turned back to the cab they had recently vacated and slid in. As the car pulled away, Canada felt his life go with it and he watched with a sense of dread, waving goodbye with a smile on his face like an idiot even when the yellow vehicle left his sight. Gradually, the smile disappeared and his hand fell to his side. Taking a deep breath, he tried not to show his fear and turned to face Russia, forcing himself to look into the violet eyes. They were dark with… anticipation? Either way, Matthew quickly decided that it was frightening, especially when connected to that wide smile.

"We should go inside," His voice was but a small whisper, and he mentally berated himself for sounding like such a weakling; his brother wouldn't be so submissive. Picking up their luggage he decided that for the moment, he'd pretend he was Alfred; brave, brash, annoying Alfred. Except, maybe he'd omit the brash and annoying parts.

Ivan's smile grew, "Of course." Taking the keys from his pants pocket he opened the door and stepped out of the cold, leaving his boots in the hall. Matthew followed his example looking around curiously. The house was huge; the outside a dark grayish stone, the inside decorated in a mixture of earthy tones. Cool tile met his socked feet as he took off his sneakers, the stone smooth and dark, complimenting the off-white painted walls with wood outlining.

In front of the foyer Matthew could see the beginnings of a sweeping staircase splitting to both sides with elaborately carved railings and a large, sparkling chandelier above. To the right was the dining room; a dark wood table set with expensive china and able to seat eight. There was a tall cabinet on the far side of the room with a glass door to display rich dishes and goblets that most likely cost a fortune. Everything around Matthew looked to be in pristine condition and probably held historical value; the kind of artifacts that museums and archaeologists would die for.

There was no dust, no cobwebs, and no dark and doom dungeon facade that many others would have been expecting of Ivan's domain. In fact, the house looked to be well taken care of, organized and beautiful; fit for a royal. However the more he scrutinized the place, the more details he noticed. It didn't look _used_. The furniture was perfectly placed, the decorations strategically located to offer the best view, but the sofas looked to have been rarely sat on, the dishes never used. Candles never lit… it didn't feel _homey_, even though everything necessary was provided.

But perhaps one time, this was a home; back when the USSR had been together. He could imagine Lithuania cooking, Latvia cleaning, Estonia reading. He could see Ukraine laughing with Belarus and Russia nodding, periodically joining the conversation. He wondered what it would have been like, sitting at the dining table; would they have enjoyed the food and spoken to each other like a family?

Taking a glance at Russia, he tried to picture the man with a happy disposition. It was difficult. Even before the war, Ivan's smiles were full of childish cruelty; fake and unhappy. He had never seen the nation smile for real, not even in the company of his sisters, who he knew for a fact Russia cared very much for.

When Ivan turned to him, Matthew broke out of the somewhat depressing thoughts and tried to get back to the task at hand. "I-I can cook something, if you're hungry."

There was a small nod of agreement and the large man turned to walk through the house, Matthew behind him. They arrived at the kitchen and Matthew took in the view, once again wondering at the amount of money this mansion must have been worth; the utilities were restaurant-worthy. The countertops were dark brown granite, offset with dark wood cabinets. A large refrigerator with a touch-screen of some kind on its surface along with a water and ice dispenser. A chef's dream stove, a big oven, along with the small appliances like a coffee and espresso machine, microwave, and assorted jars containing sugar and whatnot. Everything available came in a stainless steel or black and brown.

A mini-bar to the side caught his eye and he took notice of the bottles in the cupboard. While most of them seemed to be some kind of vodka there looked to be many different kinds of alcohol; wine, champagne, even gin, rum, and tequila.

Stepping into the ultimate kitchen, Matthew couldn't help but feel a little giddy. Cooking was a hobby of his (probably inherited from France), and he could just imagine using everything here, making all kinds of meals and desserts. Which reminded him, what exactly would he cook?

Now was the time to admit his ignorance regarding Russian culture. "Um, what would you like? I don't know many recipes from this side of the world, I'm afraid."

"Does not matter, I will not eat."

"W-what do you mean?" Remembering his face in the car, he took a guess that nausea was a factor in his sudden loss of appetite. After all, they hadn't eaten since leaving the hotel, which was at least eight hours ago. "I'll make something light so it'll agree with you. I do know your potato pancake recipe. Would that be alright?"

Ivan's face remained blank, but he hesitantly nodded his head, "Draniki, is what we call it. That is fine."

Slightly happy that he was getting somewhere with the Russian, he made his way through the kitchen, finding and gathering ingredients and utensils. He quickly started to prepare, thanking his self-interest (it wasn't an obsession) in pancakes for leading him to memorize so many variations of them. From maple or cinnamon pancakes, to crêpes or Dutch pancakes, he'd found so many recipes of his favorite food, that he was bound to enjoy some form of the meal wherever he was.

In all actuality, potato pancakes weren't the typical fluffy, bread-like pancakes he was used to, but more of a patty. Still, it was quick to make, easy on the stomach, and good to eat.

At some point, Ivan left the kitchen, and Matthew's posture relaxed. Pretty soon he was lightly skipping around the kitchen, getting familiar with the place while humming a quiet, nameless tune in his head. Fixing up two plates, he set them on the counter and called Ivan, "Russia! Dinner is ready!"

Unfortunately, unless you were in the same room as Canada, his voice usually went unheard. Unless you were Kumajirou… if food was involved he suddenly seemed very active. Treading from around the corner, his claws making soft clicking sounds, he looked up at his friend, "Have you seen Russia?"

The bear tilted his head to the side, "Hungry."

Abruptly turning to the refrigerator, Matthew opened the freezer to find the two fish he had come across during his exploration. They were probably being saved for some kind of meal, but without anything else for Kumajirou to eat, these were the only option. A polar bear's diet was a very delicate thing. Giving them to his friend with an affectionate pat, he wandered around the house to look for his host.

The living room connected to the kitchen was empty. The fabric covered sofa looked warm and inviting, an abnormally large plasma screen in front, ideal for movies and games. Alfred had one even larger for that specific purpose, but he wondered what Ivan used it for (if he used it at all). Traveling down the brightly lit hallway, he passed the front door and into a double entrance next to it to find a library. Two story shelves full of literature that was probably only available in Cyrillic. Some books looked newly purchased while others were old and worn with age; the spines bent and frayed. In one corner, behind a glass window, there were scrolls; ancient and probably worth more than Matthew could believe.

This room looked significantly more important than the others; a stack of misplaced books, papers, and pens on the desk next to a laptop told the Canadian that Ivan visited this room quite a lot. However, the Russian was not here and Matthew felt as if he was intruding. Quietly backing away from the library he turned to the next door across the hall. He knocked on the wood before slowly opening the door, finding a large bedroom.

The bed was huge, definitely not a size readily available in stores. It had a dark red duvet and plenty of pillows in a lighter shade. The frame was a rich dark wood that matched the armoire on the other side of the room. Double glass doors lead to a veranda on the right, and a large fireplace was set to the left, outlined in the same wood as the furniture. Logs already in the pit, waiting to be used, Matthew could see that this room seemed more worn as well. Pictures sat on the end tables and fireplace mantel; he could see Ukraine and Belarus, a few of the Baltic States and Ivan's past bosses. No pictures of Ivan though, he noticed.

Sounds came from the left and he found another door most likely leading to a bathroom. "R-Russia," Canada called. The door swung open and Ivan stared at the nation with a blank face. His hair was damp and he wore new clothes, so it was obvious the man took a shower. "Um, food is ready. You should e-eat before it gets cold."

"Da."

Dinner was tense and quiet, much like it was back at the hotel. Ivan didn't seem to be in the mood to talk, and Matthew didn't want to take the chance of getting him angry. Although, the slight soothing of the Russian's brow as he took a bite of his food lifted the blonde's spirits. Finishing quickly, Russia stood, taking his plate to the sink and storing it in the dishwasher next to it, "There is a bedroom upstairs that you can use; the first door on the left. If you are to stay here, you will obey my rules and clean up your mess."

"Of course," Canada agreed, taking his own empty plate and setting it next to Russia's. "I can cook and clean, I won't be a bother, but I am here to make sure you get better so… if I obey your rules, you have to listen to what I say as well."

Ivan's eyes instantly narrowed and Matthew rushed to specify, "You have to get plenty of rest; I won't keep you from work, but limit it to a few hours a day. You have to eat what I cook for you, and I'll learn some Russian cuisine, so it won't be so foreign. And you have to _let_ me help. I'll respect your privacy but if your fever gets high enough, I will bring it down, even if I have to push you into a swimming pool."

Russia's eyes didn't change from the glare harsh, but no matter how much he feared that look, Matthew wouldn't back down. He wouldn't be a pushover. He was an independent, strong nation, and he wouldn't submit to another, not even Russia. So as their eyes locked, Canada added a little glare of his own. "You think you can order me around, little one?"

With his height, Ivan easily towered over the Canadian and as he took a step closer, Matthew's oxygen supply seemingly decreased, but he didn't back away; frightened animals ran, weaklings ran. Canada would not give Ivan the implication that he could be controlled. "Not at all, but I'm not here to be your servant. I think it's only fair that we put in the same effort and get this over with. Three days to put up with each other, then Katyusha will be back and if you wish, I'll leave then."

They had a stare-down, Ivan's gaze unwavering. Matthew wasn't ignorant to the fact that Russia's tactics regarding an enemy relied mainly on psychological aspects. This was a game of chicken and Matthew refused to be the first to break away, it would only lead to more situations like this one in which Ivan believed he would just roll over.

Suddenly, Russia smiled, as if he won their little game. "Da, we should both work together then. Such a bright one you are." A big hand came to pat Canada on the head like a child and Matthew was too surprised to react before it moved away. "I will get better and you will learn respect, da?"

Finally getting his vocals back, Matthew stuttered for a second as Ivan turned from the sink, striding out of the kitchen to presumably go back to his room. "Спокойной ночи, Matvey." He bid goodnight.

_You're the one who needs to learn respect! You ungrateful jerk!_ Matthew had a small rage in his head, full of all the comebacks and insults he wanted to throw in the Russian's face, but sadly, and pathetically in his opinion, he simply nodded, watching the man walk away with a livid expression.

"Nice." Kumajirou's voice brought Matthew's gaze to his friend who looked up from his seated position on the floor with a face that criticized everything he had done.

"Yeah, I could have handled that better, couldn't I?" Sighing, Canada cleaned up what he could of the mess he made cooking. When everything was put away neatly and the kitchen looked just as it had before, he picked up Kumajirou and went in search of his bedroom. _Up the stairs and to the left_… Wow.

It must have been a second master bedroom or something. It was huge. A large bed, probably as big as the one in Ivan's room. There was a large seated window on the other side of the bed, an armoire to the back. The bed had a light blue bedspread and bamboo colored frame which, of course, matched the dresser and end tables. Kumajirou wiggled in his grasp until Matthew let him drop to the floor. "Our house is nothing like this, is it Kumasaru?"

The white bear climbed up the bed and jumped onto the pile of pillows and Matthew laughed, running over to join him. They had fun bouncing on the bed and throwing pillows around before settling down. Canada sat up, planning on changing his clothes and getting into bed but he stopped short when he recognized his suitcase to the side of the door. _Did Ivan put it there?_

Not bothering to think about it too hard, he rifled through it, changing into a pair of pajama pants and shirt.

"Mon Dieu, look at this bathroom, Kuma!" A large black granite countertop with a white porcelain sink, full length mirror and a bathtub that could fit four people! The shower had three different showerheads and everything gleamed in white or black marble. "This guy has economy issues?" He asked himself. _Hell, if the Russian sold his mansion, I'm sure he'd be rid of his debt._

Brushing his teeth, and getting ready for bed, he turned off his phone, put it on charge and climbed under the clean covers. Kumajirou curled up on the pillow near his head, giving Canada a lick to the brow as a goodnight gesture which was returned with a good scratch behind an ear. "Night, Kumajirou."

…oOo…

It was usual for Canada to wake early. He was a bit of a morning person (as opposed to America who slept in as late as he possibly could). So when he opened his eyes, ready for the day at six o'clock in the morning, he felt very well rested. His headache was less noticeable and his throat wasn't as scratchy as it had been yesterday. So, all in all, he was in high spirits. He got up, gathered some clean clothes and toiletries, and headed off for a shower. The water was hot, the pressure perfect enough to soothe whatever muscles had been sore, and upon finishing up, he felt cleaner than he had in a while.

"Ok," he mumbled to himself, dressed in some casual black slacks and a grey shirt with a white design on the front. "I should cook some breakfast first, then I'm going to need to go shopping, cause you have nothing to eat," He said to the polar bear, who he knew was awake, but was just ignoring him in favor of lazing around. "That means I need to change my currency." He had seen a currency conversion place just outside the airport when they had left, he would go there. "And after that I should wash some clothes."

Sighing at the chores piling up, he decided to go check on Russia to see if the man's fever had returned. Traveling through the house silently, he softly entered the bedroom door and tiptoed to the humongous bed, stopping short at seeing Ivan's face.

He looked too serene to be such a violent, cruel, and heavy nation of ill repute. His face was smooth, not necessarily happy or sad, but it held more significance than his blank expression usually did. Matthew idly wondered what sort of dreams Ivan had; what did a nation such as Russia think about? It was so hard to tell, his emotions were always fickly childish or outright threatening. But here, he looked almost normal, hulking frame covered in rich blankets, expansive chest rising and falling with every breath.

He was different like this… handsome, that was the word. It was strange to think of a man like Russia as being handsome. Ivan came with so much emotional luggage that it was difficult to see him with anyone, really. Especially when taking in the suitors; there was no nation he could think of that would be a very good match.

They all had baggage of their own; all of them had been through war and strife. Considering that, it was a wonder any nation could be with another at all. Marriages weren't for love anymore but for diplomacy or alliances. Nowadays everyone fought for something, and that inevitably drew others to get involved. Before anyone knew it, another war had started or an accident involving terrorists or revolutionaries occurred.

And yet, they kept trying. Like a magnetic field, the countries were drawn to each other. Whether by common interests, similar characteristics, cultural differences, or something else. They made enemies, made allies; the relationship always changing. A friend this century could be a bitter rival the next. It was constant chaos and yet they threw themselves into the fray; why?

Because it's lonely, that's why. The people they take care of, the humans they represent, die in a blink of an eye- their decisions are what keep them alive. Their bosses' choices weighing heavily on their future and making an impact with every bill passed, every word spoken. Nations themselves didn't get a voice in anything. It was their lives being controlled, their actions being scrutinized… they were freaks, living beyond all those who claim to be their masters and being passed down from one generation of leaders to the next.

Finding others like them, despite their opposing opinions, standards of fashion, foreign languages, and shades of skin; they were alike in the aspect that they would live for however long their rulers let them. They found comfort in the fact that they were not alone and sometimes, things worked out. Sweden and Finland could attest to that, having been together for many years, they set an example. But what about everyone else?

Would America find another nation, probably one among them now, to marry? What about England, or France, or _him_ for that matter? _Will I be lucky enough to find someone to love?_

Looking at Russia, he worried if Ivan would too. Certainly, the ability to provide for whoever might come along would be there, but he didn't think the Russian would make a very good husband, domestically-speaking. He just couldn't see the man _loving_ anyone the way a husband would love a wife.

Slowly extending his hand to the dubbed bachelor's face, Canada pressed his palm very lightly to the man's brow, judging the heat before moving away. Backing up and quietly out the door, he shut it behind him and let out the deep breath he had been holding. Russia seemed fine, his temperature low enough to be considered normal, but he doubted the illness had disappeared.

Matthew returned to the kitchen, smiling to himself as he set about cooking a big omelet with a side of bacon and a glass of orange juice. He was just about to wake Russia up when the man walked into the room, dressed for the day, though he looked slightly grumpy. The image of the man sleeping was indeed completely different than the Russian's demeanor now and Matthew quickly set the plate of food in front of him before starting on his. Determined to have conversation this time around, he jumped on a topic that would hopefully not cause tension. "I'm going grocery shopping today. Is there anything in particular you want me to cook?"

Ivan took a few bites before bothering to answer, "You should learn borsch."

"Ok," He turned to a cabinet above the stove and pulled out a heavy cook book he'd seen yesterday. Holding it out with a smile he asked, "Would it be in here?"

"Da."

"May I borrow it then?"

Once again, Ivan took his cleared plate to the dishwasher, storing it away neatly, "Don't lose it." He started to leave the kitchen but paused at the doorway, reaching into his pants pocket he took out his wallet and set five bills printed with "1000" on the counter.

Canada immediately started shaking his head, his arms flailing a little, "Don't worry about that, I was going to go to a currency converter anyway!"

Ivan gave him a look that silenced him quickly, "Then go, but if you are to stock my kitchen with food you will use my money." Matthew frowned, opening his mouth to make another argument but was cut off with a glare. "A mere five thousand rubles will make no difference in stabilizing my economy. This is one of my rules, are you going to defy me?"

Canada gaped like a fish, trying to think of some kind of comeback, but in the end, he simply crossed the room and split the cash on the counter, keeping three bills and leaving the other two. _Five thousand rubles is equivalent to about two hundred Canadian dollars, so three thousand is roughly one hundred._ His voice was back to a whisper, much to his disgust, "Fine, but I don't need that much."

Ivan took one of the abandoned bills and held it up, a creepy smile on his lips, "You will if you are buying vodka."

Mauve eyes narrowed and Matthew looked up at Ivan with a very disagreeable expression. "But I'm not buying vodka," He said slowly.

"Da, you are."

The money was forced into his hand and Canada groaned, honestly, he was getting nowhere with the Russian. Stubborn as all hell, perhaps that's why he and Alfred didn't get along. "Fine, I guess I am. C'est des conneries." Russia's smile grew.

"When you return I will be working, I will want vodka then."

Nodding exasperatedly, Matthew turned, clearing the countertops of the dirty plates and pans, "But if you feel bad; dizziness, nausea, or if your fever returns, stop working, okay?"

Ivan seemed to grind his teeth, "Da." The conversation was over and the Russian spun on his heel, exiting the kitchen to go to his library where there would not be an annoying Canadian trying to tell him what to do.

Matthew just sighed, wondering why every conversation of theirs had to end so unpleasantly. Heading to the door, he put on his shoes and left. _Hopefully the fresh air will do me good._

Once on the main road he waved down a taxi and spoke slowly in Russian (there were so few words that he knew, and the driver looked like he had a hard time understanding, so he could only assume that his attempt at communicating was terrible)… mostly he just used symbols and in one instance stuck his arms out and made plane noises to resemble the airport. It was humiliating and he swore to never tell anyone of that ever. The driver laughed, but apparently, that got through to him because they arrived at the correct destination within twenty minutes. Paying the man, he waved goodbye, a little confused at the driver's answering farewell. He knew it wasn't 'goodbye,' as that was one of the few Russian words he had in his vocabulary.

Committing the saying to memory, he walked into the building and looked around for the currency store he had seen. The workers were Russian too but they understood English fairly well and they were happy to help. Getting the equivalent of five hundred Canadian dollars exchanged for rubles, he safely tucked it away in his wallet and left for the grocery store that was conveniently located across the street.

_Vodka… vodka… what kind of vodka did Ivan like?_ He asked himself, standing in front of the alcoholic beverage shelf; it was full of all different kinds of bottles. Beer, wine, rum… He didn't speak Russian, and he definitely couldn't _read_ the Cyrillic language. Which one was which? Remembering that Ivan's bottle from the hotel room had a red label, he tried to find one based on that. _That narrowed it down real well._ Sarcasm; a very useful thing.

"Водка," He murmured to himself the label of one. That sounded a lot like vodka. That works.

…oOo…

Inside his library, Ivan typed away on his laptop, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. Shuffling through papers, he found the ones containing the information from the last world conference meeting, reading and copying down what he found to be important. Unfortunately, his concentration wavered every ten minutes or so as he thought about his 'guest.'

The Canadian annoyed him.

Coming up and claiming he had a duty to help him get better. Did the boy really think he could nurse him back to health? No, it was impossible. It wasn't a sickness that could be cured with medicine. It was a physical manifestation of what his country was going through, he wouldn't get better until his economy did and if he went by the news anchor's predictions, that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

So what did Canada plan to do? Despite the boy's naïve demeanor, the kid was quite bright, he meant that. Now, if only the nation could shut up and do as he was told. Then they would get along fine. In fact, Matthew reminded him of Lithuania at times, and Russia always liked Toris.

They were both quiet, they seemed to enjoy their space, they stuttered at times (it would be cute if they weren't so skittish), and they definitely knew how to cook. Yes, he found himself enjoying little Matthew's meals, and he knew the food would be even better once he learned Russian dishes.

He found it confusing though how their mannerisms were similar, and yet, Canada was infinitely more complicated than Lithuania. Was that because they were from different parts of the world? After all, he knew Toris for a very long time; they were close, physically, geographically, and emotionally speaking. Canada was a new acquaintance, part of North America… Alfred's little brother.

Maybe that's what messed him up; thinking about Matthew's family. Really, the nation was related to England, France, and America… that alone should influence him into becoming a hyperactive grumpy nation obsessed with tea, coffee, high class food, and sex. But so far, Ivan had only seen a quiet, friendly (a little too friendly), boy with no outstanding qualities (besides the bear). He didn't look too into tea, as every time they had a meal, the blonde drank water, and he was too calm for coffee. The coffee machine had not been tampered with that morning either.

He wasn't even going to think about sex. The boy seemed way too reserved for that, blushing and stuttering like a teenage girl, nothing like France at all. But he spoke French and cooked like Francis, spoke in a dignified manner with respect, like England, and had the fire of determination, like America. It was perplexing, and the only reason Ivan had let things go so far was because he was having a difficult time figuring the blonde out.

It was his fault in the first place. He had stupidly left his door open when he returned to get his keys that night. He was so dizzy and sick that he hadn't seen his suitcase in the middle of the floor. Next thing he knew, he was face down on the hard carpet, struggling to breathe. His lungs had burned, his throat had ached, his head had pounded and then, he was moved and for a long time he thought it was Alfred above him, wiping his forehead, and taking off his coat. He'd been beyond angry; at the person who kept touching him, at the economy that started all of it and at himself for not keeping a better front.

He had expected _Alfred_ to tease him, annoy him, tattle on him, and take the moment to exploit his weaknesses. Imagine his surprise when the boy didn't do either of those things. Matthew Williams, Canada, was definitely not anything like his brother. He didn't know if this was any better though; being treated like a child.

Canada was too close, unashamed of trying to help and unwilling to leave him when Ivan threatened bodily harm. That never happened before. The Baltic states practically ran from the vicinity when he showed his displeasure, the other nations made excuses and left with dignity, even those like America knew when to leave him alone (insulting all the way out the door but obeying his wishes nonetheless).

And while Matthew didn't insinuate any masochistic tendencies (retreating when necessary, proceeding with caution), the boy stubbornly refused to stay the hell away. He even told Ukraine! His dear older sister did not need to know about his state of affairs. He had gone through great lengths to make sure she remained ignorant. Then Canada ruined all of his carefully disguised troubles in one minute; making the situation worse by forcing him into a bath!

He was furious. Now his sister would worry about him. Katyusha had problems of her own, there was a reason he'd withheld this from her!

Thinking about all of this, his anger from before resurfaced. Three days with that boy who didn't know his place… Ivan wondered what he would do during that allotted time. Subconsciously, he knew he wouldn't get anywhere with him. Matthew, no matter how shy, had proved that he would not simply roll over. If anything, he was like America in that way. But he had been easily convinced to follow his rules… So, he refused to be his slave in a nice way?

That was definitely what it seemed like. Canada had a certain charisma; nothing like America's, but it worked for him. Shyly and respectfully declining propositions with intelligent replies. _"I think it's only fair that we put in the same effort and get this over with."_

Such a diplomatic answer.

The sudden ring of his phone brought him out of his thoughts and he reached for the receiver with one hand, rubbing his temples with the other, _Бог, would this headache ever end?_

"Привет," He called his greeting.

"Ivan."

"Ah, Medvedev, bring me good news, da?"

"Da, my friend, it is very good news." Strange, the man seemed extraordinarily happy for some reason. Not like a leader who was struggling with the declining economic mess. That raised the Russian's hopes that this would be getting better soon. "I've just had a meeting with Canada's boss, Mr. Stephen Harper. He's sending full support for our economic stimulation pack."

Moments of silence passed as Ivan came to terms with what was just said. "Did you hear, Braginski? This is just what we needed, with Canada's help we'll have more than enough to pull through!"

"That's… great."

"I heard he was with you?"

"D-Da," Oh no, his speech was being affected. Clearing his throat (which threw him into a fit of coughs) he breathed deep before replying. "He went shopping, he will be back soon."

"Good, very good," Then a pause, "Does he know Russian?"

"Нет, but I think he will be fine, da?"

"Of course, I was thinking that I would visit tomorrow. Meet the nation in person."

"That is fine."

"Good! See you then, Ivan, be well."

Ivan returned the phone to the cradle, staring blankly at a shelf of books. _So Canada was serious about this. But why is he helping? How does this benefit him?_

Something brushed against his leg and he snapped his head down, seeing the white polar bear Matthew must have left behind. Warm black eyes blinked owlishly up at him and Ivan simply stared back, not knowing what the bear wanted from him.

As if bored with the whole affair a large yawn split the white muzzle wide, showing the sharp teeth that Russia had the pleasure of testing. Pulling himself up onto the man's lap, the animal flopped down with a satisfied grunting sound, getting comfortable and looking about ready to sleep. Russia continued to flounder at the bear's lack of manners. "Who are you," He asked, scowling, putting off a threatening aura.

"Kumajirou," The bear replied, and yet he didn't move or even look at him. It annoyed Ivan all the more.

"Like master like pet, you're just as aggravating at that damn Canadian." But Kumajirou was already snoring away.

…Author's Note…

Thank you all for reading!

I have so many reviews too! Thank you all very much! I hope to make more (25 perhaps). Is that asking too much? Ha ha. Well, the next chapter will hopefully be out soon! I'm on a roll, ready to get to the actual action. Beginnings are so difficult. :)

Anyway, please review and state any opinions you may have!

Edit: Thank you to my readers who corrected me in French (it was bound to happen, and probably will again "Fichu il" is not 'damn it.' So I looked some curse words up, and I gave Canada a little potty mouth, cause I couldn't resist. I think I'm going to be walking around saying some of these things too. And nobody would know because there's no one around me who can speak French. HA!

_Translations:_

Mon Dieu (French): My God

Спокойной ночи (Russian): Good Night

C'est des conneries (French): This is stupid (better translated as 'this is bullshit')

Водка (Russian): Vodka

Привет (Russian): Hello

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Hetalia or any other copyrighted subject I may have mentioned, I make no money from this.


	4. Там: There

Chapter 4: Там: There

"I'm back," Matthew called, shifting all kinds of plastic bags in his arms. He made it to the kitchen, unloading and storing the food he had bought into the cabinets and pantry neatly. "Kumajirou, I have some seal."

There were no signs of movement, no bear practically running for his most favorite food, no Ivan coming by to harass him for his precious vodka. All was silent in the immensely spacious mansion. Could they just not hear him? That was certainly possible, he admitted with distain, cursing his small voice which caused him to be so over-looked.

Seeing, as it was lunchtime, he decided to fix something quick and simple, saving the actual cooking for dinner. Making a couple sandwiches, he toasted the bread, packed it with lunch-meat, and added some vegetables before cutting them into halves. He assorted some chips on the plate and grabbed one of the five bottles of vodka he had recently purchased, before taking it to the library.

Knocking politely before entering, he was pretty much ignored as he crossed the threshold and stepped up to the desk Ivan was seated at. The Russian spared him a glance before turning back to the computer in front of him, completely indifferent. He found a rare clear spot where he could actually see the wood of the desk and placed his offerings there.

Glad for the silence and lack of murderous auras, Matthew took the chance to check the man's temperature, bringing his hand up to press against his forehead. Ivan leaned out of reach, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, "Leave."

"I would if you cooperated." Following the man, Matthew again made to touch his face but Russia pushed further back, chair rolling away from the desk and away from Canada. "Oh, come on, it'll only take two seconds, stop being a child."

Russia's gaze hardened and he opened his mouth to make a threat but a dull growling sound interrupted him. Both countries looked down to the Russian's lap. Matthew blinked in amusement as Kumajirou blinked back. The movement of the chair had woken him from his deep sleep. "What are you doing here, Kumoro?"

"Who?"

"Canada."

"Oh," Turning his head, the white body shifted to get more comfortable, going back to sleep almost instantly.

That little interaction seemed to diffuse the tension and Matthew finally succeeded in pressing his palm to Ivan's head, much to his obvious displeasure. "It's higher than this morning, but you should be fine," He withdrew as soon as possible. Pointing at the vodka on the table, "Please don't drink it all, I really don't think it would help."

He turned to leave the man to his work, "You aren't going to take this insufferable animal with you?"

Looking over his shoulder to Kumajirou resting quite happily in the country's lap, he smiled affectionately, "Nope." Who was he to disturb his friend's sleep? He left the room before Russia could protest.

Deciding to explore the house more, he traveled back to the stairway, passed the dining room, and turned down the hallway after it. Three doors, two to the left, and another in front. The first was a bathroom, pristine and clean. The second, a laundry room, something he would be using later today. The door at the end of the hall led to a garage though and curiosity got the better of him as he wandered into the high ceilinged room. It was a lot less insulated than the rest of the house and he wrapped his arms around himself, hissing as his feet hit the cold concrete below.

There were at least two cars here and he could tell they were expensive. One looked rather sporty, almost like a race car with its two passenger seating, leather interior, and silver paint. The emblem stated it was a Porsche. Another looked to be more for luxury. Glossy black in color with leather inside from what Matthew could see through the tinted windows. He especially liked this one, a Bentley convertible.

He saw some motorbikes on the other side of the room, three of them, shiny and new looking. _Somebody must take good care of them_. Canada craved a ride, having at least two bikes himself. He was always a secret sports fan. Speed thrilled him and many of the things he did (snowboarding, skiing, skydiving) were extreme in level. These bikes were high class, a Ducati being the centerpiece of his keen eye. He wondered how it would handle, smiled at the thought of taking it out to one of his many mountain trails where he could feel the fresh air and be close to the stars.

Turning back, he flipped the light and encased the vehicles in darkness, walking back into the house in a light spirit, daydreams going through his head. It was decided; as soon as he got home, he was taking a walk. He would drive his bike as far as he could go then hike the rest of the way up Mount Logan, his tallest mountain in Yukon. That would set his mind straight after all this stress.

Going up to his room, he gathered together his dirty clothes and took them to the washer, loading the utility with his mind on autopilot. Then, he returned to the kitchen, sitting down on a barstool with the cookbook in his lap, "Borsch." He mumbled to himself. Checking the ingredients and reading the instructions. "Ha, blood red soup, that's typical." It was a very complicated recipe; as many as fifteen different foods needed. Matthew wondered if Ivan chose this just to make his job harder.

Sighing and readying himself for a long time in the kitchen (which he didn't mind, seeing as it was the ultimate kitchen of course), he collected everything the recipe called for and began.

When five o'clock rolled around he went to the library, intent on telling the man that he had more than filled his quota for the amount of time a sick country should work a day. Stepping inside after a few knocks, Matthew caught the eyes of Russia, who seemed particularly aggravated with his mere presence. "Dinners almost ready and you've been in here all day. You should be resting, not working."

"Don't tell me what to do," Was the snappy reply, and Matthew closed his eyes in pure frustration, they were going to fight about something every time! "Get me more vodka."

Jerking his gaze to the desk, he saw the bottle of vodka he brought in earlier that day… empty. "You drank that whole thing? I told you not to!"

"I said don't tell me what to do." Ivan's eyes narrowed into a glare.

"That was our deal, Russia. I follow your rules if you follow mine. They're not that hard to obey! I've done all that you asked me too, but you give me trouble every time." Ivan's demeanor did not change, his face darkening in warning. "What have I d-done to make you so angry at me?"

"Your boss spoke to Medvedev today."

Oh, so they got together then. "W-what happened?" Did it not go well?

"The Russian Federation is getting full support from the Canadian government. With their help it is theorized that we will see vast improvement within the next few months."

Matthew lowered his eyes, "Then why are you angry?"

Ivan kept his stare firm, watching Canada closely. "If you are helping me simply to get something in return, you will be greatly disappointed." Matthew flinched at the tone of voice, it was cold and full of hatred, like Ivan would readily enjoy tearing him apart. Nevertheless, his eyebrows drew together in a frown as he processed the meaning of the words.

Looking up hesitantly, he braved a glance at Russia's face, "I don't expect anything in return. I did this because you were sick and I couldn't just leave you there. It's heartless to do something like that."

"Then you are pathetic." Canada gaped at the man. "You truly are a young country if you believe something as naïve as having a heart will get you anywhere. How inexperienced you must be. A real nation cannot simply cater to everyone else's needs. You and America both have this undying need to play hero. That will surely kill you one day."

"P-Pardon-"

"If it was me, I would have taken advantage of your distress. Invaded and taken your country as one of my own. Made you a servant in this house, where you would have no choice but to obey my every command. The last thing I would have done is help out of the goodness of my cold heart."

Matthew remained in the doorway, bewildered. Steadily, his face grew red with an anger he rarely, if ever, unleashed. It boiled in his chest screaming to be set free and Canada took a deep breath, "Well then, at least I know not to rely on someone like you! For all your centuries of pearly wisdom, I can't fathom why a country like you can still stand. It is because of my brother's heart that he got to be in the position he is today. A world superpower, bigger and more powerful than you ever will be! And it's not because he blackmails or betrays other countries into being his servants, it's because he makes friends. He helps because it's the right thing to do, not because of what he may get in return. You wouldn't understand that!"

Spinning around on his heel, Matthew slammed the wooden door shut, huffing and puffing and growling obscenities under his breath. He marched back to the kitchen, flopping down on the barstool. He sat there for a while, letting his fury burn out. The good mood from earlier gone like it never existed thanks to that Russian who seemed to make it his mission to ruin every conversation they had.

One of the bottles of vodka next to him caught his eye and he wondered if he should throw it all down the drain; every last drop of every bottle that infuriating man had. Then he'd refuse to go out and get any more. That jerk could go get it himself and he would lock the door behind him.

Instead of emptying the bottle via the sink, Matthew uncapped the lid and poured some into a glass. It was clear, like water would be, no distinction at all besides the scent. He filled the glass an inch high, bringing the cup to his lips and tilting it slightly until the liquid slid into his mouth, just enough to get a taste of it on his tongue. It warmed his mouth and tingled down his throat, pooling in his stomach with a comforting heat. It wasn't too bad; a little rough as it was pure alcohol, but not terrible, just needed to be mixed with something was all.

_Ha, what the hell, I'll just drink all his precious vodka._ He filled the glass with ice cubes, a little more alcohol, and topped it with orange juice. The famous 'screwdriver,' the only drink he knew how to make involving vodka. Taking his drink to the living room, he fell down onto the couch and turned on the huge TV in front of him. The picture was extremely clear and took up most of his vision with how immense it was.

Flipping through channel after channel, in search of something interesting that he wouldn't have to listen to since he couldn't understand, he stopped at a sports network as he saw ice, jerseys, and hulking figures armed with wooden sticks… Hockey.

Quite suddenly, his argument with Ivan didn't matter anymore. His interest was focused on the game. The teams were unfamiliar and he didn't think they'd ever played against his country (would have remembered if they did) but they were surprisingly good. He could instantly see that the teams were laden with heavy sorts of players, built to be tough, not necessarily for speed. The team in red uniforms were ahead by one point and it was already in the second period, the game was well on its way; the players focused and frustrated.

The puck flew across the ice and Matthew's well trained eyes easily kept track of it. The defense raced to block, the goalie ready to make his save. However, the team in the white jerseys had no need to worry about him, for the red uniformed offensive unit swept in, one in particular was brutal in the way he body-checked the player in control of the puck. The man was slammed into the boards roughly and Matthew had to wince at the pain that move must have caused, but a smirk came to his lips not a moment later as the red team turned around, flying across the ice at top speeds. Five seconds later and the red team scored a goal.

_They're good._

…oOo…

Ivan growled deep in his chest, extremely pissed beyond all reasoning. Looking down, he scowled at the bear that was somehow forgotten on his lap, he had been there all freaking day! Did the animal do nothing but sleep? With one shove Kumajirou was sent sprawling to the floor with a whine of surprise.

"Run off to your master."

Looking up at the Russian, Kumajirou huffed, clearly annoyed at the man's behavior. "You're mean."

"And you're nothing but a dirty animal."

The insult didn't seem to faze the bear as he merely tilted his head to the side. "I can take a bath."

Ivan glared at the white bear at his feet, "You are still nothing more than an animal. That will not change just because you bathe. You're disgusting, and I'm tired of looking at you, get out before I make you." He turned to the laptop in front of him, determined to get back to work.

Snorting, the bear traveled to the door, standing on two legs he could just touch the doorknob, "But I can't help being a bear. You can change and be nice though."

Ivan leaped to his feet, picking up a heavy globe-like paperweight and throwing it. He only put a fraction of his strength into it; for him it was more of a toss, but it slammed into the wall next to the door with enormous force, denting and splintering the wood and shattering the glass into pieces. Kumajirou scuttled out the door quickly, though he sent a small glare to the Russian on his way.

Scoffing at the mess on the floor, he flopped back into his chair, rubbing his temples. With nobody around, he didn't have to hide his pain and his eyes closed, head coming down to rest on the desk. Everything hurt; his eyes, his limbs, his head, and he was so cold. His fever still ran through his body, shivers racing down his spine and his head was so stuffy it was hard to even see straight. Didn't he tell that boy that he wanted his vodka?

_Yes, but then I snapped at him_. He couldn't bring himself to care for the annoying nations feelings, but he did want his alcohol. The drink would warm his body and lessen the headache (or at the very least, make things more bearable). He was always in the best of moods while drunk and one bottle of alcohol (no matter how pure) was just not enough.

Standing carefully, he allowed himself a moment to get oriented before stepping over the glass on the floor and out of the library. Usually, his study would be a source of comfort and relaxation for him, even when his work grew overbearing, but for the moment, all he wanted to do was drink until he fell asleep.

"Yes! That's what I'm talking about!" A cheer came from the living room just as Ivan walked into view. Blinking in his own version of surprise, he took in the sight of Canada standing on his couch, waving his arms about with a giant grin on his face.

Russia didn't know what he expected when he and Matthew confronted each other after their short argument, but Ivan anticipated anger, sadness, or fear. Certainly, he hadn't predicted an ecstatic Canadian jumping around on his furniture as if he had won a lottery. Was there no end to the blond's complex nature? Just when he thought he had the nation figured out, gathering up everything the boy stood for (pride, freedom, familial ties, and his oh-so-wonderful heart) and utterly destroying it to bring Canada to his knees, Matthew turned it all around.

Looking to the television, he wasn't all that surprised that the boy was watching Hockey. Being a northern country, he expected the boy to know and probably enjoy the sport. After all, Canadians were known for their love of extreme activities (ironically, they were also known for being laid back… he hadn't quite understood the contradiction until observing Matthew).

"Oh, Russia," Matthew suddenly stopped his jumping as he noticed the hulking figure in the doorway, landing on the couch with a deeply embarrassed blush. "Sorry, I just got too excited. Um, your teams are pretty good, eh."

Looking at the screen, he saw two of his college teams on ice. The game was in its third and final period and the score was 3-2. Two of the players from opposing teams were currently fighting rather ruthlessly and as Matthew caught sight of the struggle he laughed. He laughed, and Ivan was even more confused at why he would enjoy such a thing. Of course, Ivan found it amusing himself, but this meant Canada had to have some kind of mean streak.

"Where is my vodka?"

Matthew wouldn't allow himself to be distracted from the TV as he reached around the couch, holding up a bottle of the alcohol, the one he had been using in his mixed drink. "Here." And hesitantly, Ivan stepped closer to take it, noticing that about one-fourth of the liquid was gone.

"You drank it?"

"Eh, you were being an ass, so yeah. And unlike other countries, I have restraint."

_Restraint… it's not like I have a problem_, Russia thought dryly. _I can stop whenever I want… just not now._

"Besides, it's not too bad if you put it with something." Matthew held up his tall glass of the dubbed screwdriver (his second one) and smiled slightly, gaze flicking between the Russian and the game on screen. The players had been broken up and the puck was in play again. Ten minutes were left in the game and the red team was guaranteed a win, even though they were shorthanded. one teammate having been sat out for a penalty.

Ivan, still keeping an eye on the Canadian, went around to the kitchen bar, getting himself a glass. He filled it to the top, immediately bringing it to his lips to take a swig, enjoying the burn and feeling slightly better already. He saw a large pot on the stove and moved to take the lid off, smelling the familiar spices of one of his favorite foods.

Borsch was originally from Ukraine, but over the years, he had adopted it as his own, changing things around and experimenting with ingredients. Honestly, he was quite surprised that Matthew was able to cook it. Even if he followed the instructions from a cookbook, Ivan had expected the Canadian to somehow mess up.

"Russia, what does Zeem-Egrey mean?" Replacing the lid and letting it cook some more, he returned to his glass of vodka at the bar.

"Зимние Игры, means winter games. They're talking about the Olympics."

"I knew it! Ah, in just one month the biggest tournament ever. I can't wait! I'm going for the Gold."

"Russia will win." Ivan put on his childish smile and practically sang.

"It's taking place in Vancouver, my turf- besides, I have one great team this time."

"Da, I've been watching. You're defense is strong, your offense is good, but it is your goaltenders that may fail."

"I think it's pretty well rounded- at least with you, I'll have a chance to win if I can get passed your offense. You're forwards are strong and scary," He laughed. "But honestly, I just want to get Sweden. He's dangerous on ice."

"Hn, his wife too."

Leaning on the counter, Ivan watched a bit of the game, admittedly amused at Matthew's cheers and boos. Sipping generously on his liquor and sighing as his muscles started to relax.

"We should play," Canada spoke and it took a moment for Russia to realize he was speaking to him, leaning over the side of the couch with a smile. "When you get better, you and I should play. It'd be fun!"

"Tomorrow." Matthew's smile faded.

"No, because it wouldn't be fair, you're not feeling well. Besides, how bad of a nurse would I be if I beat you while you were down." The blond smirked at his sarcasm. Well, he was certainly brave saying those things. _Is it because of the adrenalin from watching the game or the alcohol in his system? He can't be such a lightweight._

Refilling his glass, Ivan let out a strange chuckle, one of his Kol Kol Kol laughs reserved for when he was usually up to something. A plan formed in his head, "But you are not feeling good either, da? So it is even." Canada opened his mouth to protest more. "Do not make such challenges if you cannot back them up. Sick or not, I can still beat you, little one."

That statement turned things around, gritting his teeth Matthew nodded, "Fine! You're on."

"We should make a deal, da?"

The gleam in his violet eyes startled Matthew and the Canadian narrowed his own in suspicion, suddenly very wary, "What kind of deal?"

Taking his glass with him, Ivan stepped around the counter and closer to the couch, leaning over the back of it and getting extremely close to the other, his threatening aura overpowering. "If I win, Canada is mine for one month."

For the second time that day, the blond just gaped at the Russian, completely flabbergasted at the man's audacity. "Bâtard," Ivan steadily rose an eyebrow at that, guessing at what it could mean. "Y-you can't…" Swallowing thickly, trying to get over his shock, Matthew blew out an explosive breath. "What if I win?"

The Russian's childish smile was creepy and the unexpected weight of the huge man's arm as it draped over the blond's shoulder made him shiver in fear. "What do you want?"

"I-I don't…" It was hard to breathe. What was he doing? Making a deal with the devil, that's what! _If I lose, I will be under this man's rule for a month… How could I possibly agree to that?_ However… "If I win," He started, attempting to build up his courage enough to spit it out. "I want to be your ally- an equal."

Ivan's smile grew more sarcastic, "Is that all? Surely you could have thought of some better terms."

"I want a friend I can count on," Mauve eyes narrowed in a warning.

"Da, da. I will be a good comrade-"

"Friends and comrades are not the same thing."

A bit annoyed with the boy's insistence, Ivan tightened his arm around the nation's neck threateningly. It seemed to work because Matthew's eyes went downcast and his meek personality returned in full. Ivan's smile didn't disappear though, "So tomorrow we play!"

Moving away from the boy Ivan picked up the bottle of vodka on his way out, "Oh, Medvedev may come to watch, said he wanted to meet you." A harsh glare was sent to the cowering blond on the couch. "Do not show him the same disrespect you so kindly show me. I would not be pleased."

A bright smile lit his face, like he didn't just threaten him at all, "Спокойной ночи Matvey."

"Bonne nuit," Matthew mumbled back, paralyzed on the couch as Ivan left the room to do who-knew-what. Kumajirou whined, placing his muzzle on his friend's knee in comfort. "I don't know what I just did, Kuma, but it was bad. Very bad… What should I do?"

"Don't lose."

Canada couldn't help but laugh at the obvious statement, but something in his stomach felt heavy; a knot of foreboding doom that was for sure to come. Kumajirou was right. He could not afford to lose this game. A game of Hockey was never so important. _Forget the Olympics; everything I am depends on this one match._

He didn't like it. The odds were too unpredictable. Matthew was incredibly smaller than Ivan, he definitely had the speed, but he wasn't built for offense, something Ivan was practically born into. One contact with the country and he'd wind up in the hospital with a nametag claiming him Russian Property. Moreover, if he lost, what in the world would Ivan have him do?

"Maple," He whispered. Maybe he should call Alfred? If he asked, he was sure America would defuse the situation and- What was he doing? No way was he going to ask for help out of a predicament he got himself into. He didn't need to depend on his brother so much! He was independent, he was the second largest nation, and he would prove that he could defend himself…

Sighing, Matthew stood, taking his drink with him and gulping it down as he traveled to the kitchen. With a blank mind he turned off the stove, dubbing the food ready to eat. He filled up two bowls and set them down on the bar. "Russia!"

"Da, I see."

Jumping in surprise, Matthew gulped, wondering if the man had even left at all, as he was leaning against the wall just out of sight. Sitting down together, they ate in silence, the sound of the TV going on in the background. But for some reason, Ivan was the first to attempt conversation, "This is good."

Pausing with a spoonful in his mouth, Matthew looked at the Russian strangely, "Huh? Thanks I guess."

"I didn't expect you to make it so well."

"Well, the cookbook was detailed, eh. I'm good at following instructions." His sentence was more of a question in the end, his voice careful. Really, he didn't know what Russia would do anymore, his mood swings made his head spin.

Nodding lightly, Ivan hummed in agreement. "Very good at following directions and doing as you're told. That is a very important trait for a country to have."

"Is that supposed to mean something? What are you getting at?"

"I'm merely saying that, should I win our game, the next month will be very entertaining, da?"

Swallowing his supper heavily, Matthew furrowed his brows, face burning in anger and embarrassment, but there was fear in his eyes when he turned to face Ivan. "I refuse to do something that would permanently affect my land or my people."

Russia smiled, "Of course."

"Nothing involving other countries either, you're ruling over me, not my boss. And don't-"

"Comrade Matvey, you sound worried. Do you doubt your ability to win over my ill body?"

Canada gave a small glare, "I'm just making sure you understand."

Getting up front his seat, Ivan continued to smile as he cleaned his place. On the way back he leaned close, violet gaze harsh despite his rather large smile, "I understand these terms very well, Matvey. Do you?"

A tremble of fear rushed down his spine and Matthew watched with wide eyes as Ivan left, disappearing into his room for the night. _Merde_.

…Thank you…

I've been getting so many reviews! You guys are awesome! Thank you so much! I asked for 25 and I get 33! Ha ha, so my next goal is 45! Can I reach that? :)

Anyway, thank you for being patient. This chapter gave me a little trouble, the Ivan and Matthew characters in my head just don't want to go along with my plans sometimes (exasperated).

_Translations:_

Спокойной ночи (Russian): Good Night

Bonne Nuit (French): Good Night

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Hetalia or anything else included that does not belong to me.


	5. Victoire: Victory

Chapter 5: Victoire: Victory

"Hey you, I'm hungry." Matthew rolled over, burying his face in the pillow ignoring the voice and hoping to sleep the day away. "Feed me." Canada grunted, keeping his eyes firmly shut. Movement from behind him was also ignored until something fiddled with his hair. A wet slimy tongue licked his head, and his long tendrils of hair disappeared into a sharp toothed mouth.

"Don't eat my hair!" He jerked away, looking at Kumajirou in irritation.

"Food," the bear was insistent, and Matthew knew he wouldn't be getting any more sleep. Already it was seven o'clock, high time he got up anyway. Huffing, he sat up, rubbing his face as he made his way down stairs. Matthew withdrew some seal from the freezer, setting his friend up for breakfast before starting on his own.

Russia came in as he cooked, sitting down at the counter to wait. He looked tired, holding his head in his hand, leaning heavily over the bar, but at least he seemed to be in higher spirits compared to yesterday. All in all, the Sunday morning was lazy as they ate; both too busy with trying to wake up in order to speak.

When breakfast was finished and the kitchen cleaned, Matthew sighed and turned to the Russian, dreading the conversation and generally, the whole day ahead. "So, um… when do you want to do this game? And where?"

"I have a rink open to me anytime I need it. We'll go there. Get ready, the equipment will be provided."

Parting ways to go to their rooms, Kumajirou followed Matthew as he trudged up the stairs with heavy feet. Really, Canada loved Hockey, and if there was one thing he had confidence in, it was his skills on ice. He prided himself on his speed, agility, and reflexes. He knew his chances of winning were good or at least, definitely not bad. But Russia was intimidating, his strength nothing to laugh at, and many would describe him as borderline insane. That's not including the factor of his skills at hockey.

Dressing in jeans, a sweater, and his heavy tan winter coat with brown fur seamed at the bottom, wrists, and neckline, he shoved his worries out of his mind, knowing that doubts would do nothing but hinder him. He'd go out there and play hockey, like he always did; giving his all and enjoying the game.

Ivan nodded as they met at the stairs, his attire casual as well; jeans and a long heavy black coat, his normal white scarf wrapped around his neck. His keys jingled in his hand as they stepped into the garage going for the Porsche. Matthew glanced longingly at the Ducati as he slid in the passenger side, Kumajirou in his lap.

The car was spacey with a beige leather interior, the stitches perfect, dark wooden inlays around the dashboard and display panel. It was a standard shift, the pickup and traction enough to push him back into the seat as Ivan pulled out and away from the house. Matthew made sure to buckle his seatbelt, but Ivan seemed like a safe driver (Ivan and safe in the same sentence? Whoa).

Along the way, Matthew flipped through channels on the radio, looking for some kind of music whether he understood the lyrics or not. He found one with a good beat and the woman singing had a talented voice. "You said your boss would be there?"

"Da," Russia kept his eyes on the road. "I called before we left."

Well, as long as Medvedev wasn't anything like Ivan, he was sure to get along with the man. Harper had met him before of course and his boss never said anything but nice things about the Russian President. "Who's going to be the ref?"

Ivan tilted his head slightly, and Matthew held back the urge to roll his eyes. Did he forget that? _I mean, we could go without one, but that would just give him more reason to play dirty._ "The place we're going, it is a practice rink for a local hockey team. They should be there. We will choose teams then as well."

"So it's not going to be one-on-one?"

"Нет, unless you want it to be." A gleam of sadistic glee entered the violet eyes as he glanced at Matthew, and the nation squirmed in his seat.

"N-non, this is fine." It would put things on equal ground. If he chose some big offense liners he could focus on things other than Ivan's hulking form coming to put him in the hospital.

Russia pulled into a parking lot which a few cars occupied and took an empty space near the front, the countries stepped out of the Porsche and Canada got a good look at the building in front. It was pretty big, like stadiums usually were. A metal and glass dome covered the top, letting in the bright afternoon light and offering some resemblance of an outside court. The outside was a wash-grey stone and brick, with tall windows and glass doors.

Ivan went in first, Matthew, with Kumajirou in his arms rushing through the door after him. There was a lobby room in which a snack bar lined the entire left wall for when the audience during game-night grew hungry, to the right were bathrooms and in front were open doors leading out to the stands and ice. Matthew just followed Ivan who crossed the distance with long strides (every one step for Russia was like, three for him).

Walking out to the stadium, Matthew perked up at the familiar sounds of voices, skates on ice, and the slide of the puck. Looking around Russia in front of him he took in the view of some rather buff teens in plain red and white shirts playing against each other. A coach off the ice yelled angrily, waving his hand around to further his point and some of the players spoke back in defense, although their complaints were ignored, especially as the coach caught sight of Ivan.

Instantly, the grouchy look the old man harbored disappeared and he smiled happily at Russia as the two stepped closer. Ivan and the coach conversed in Russian, making Matthew feel kind of left out seeing as he understood absolutely nothing. But he was introduced, learning the coach's name to be Afanasiy, if he could pronounce that…

He supposed Ivan started to talk about them playing together and needing a complete team, and the coach looked surprised, honored, and completely ecstatic to offer his players still squabbling on the ice. Although, Matthew did notice the strange look sent his way, did the man underestimate him seeing as his form was much smaller? Canada imagined that wasn't the case, because if he had been an ignorant spectator, his thoughts wouldn't necessarily be on who was built for hockey but more along the lines of What crazy son of a bitch would play Hockey with Russia?

_And that would be me, apparently_.

Ivan kept up a nice act, smiling in a less disturbing fashion and speaking semi-formally, but it was obvious that he would get his way. The coach had no choice in the interference of his team's practice. Turning to the players, he yelled out to them, ordering them around and they stopped their game to gather around the newcomers.

The coach told them of the new proceedings and the group brightened at the thought of a real game. It would certainly be heavy practice for them (Matthew pitied them actually, they had no idea what was in store).

"We will go get ready now, follow me." Ivan said, and Matthew sat Kumajirou on the stands whispering a quiet "Wish me luck" before following Russia's lead to a couple doors to the right of the rink, a changing room with lockers and equipment stuffed all around messily. He was handed a clean white shirt (to specify teams; Ivan wore a red one), some pads, a helmet, skates that were sure to fit him, and a stick. He changed quickly in an isolated part of the locker room as Ivan changed in another.

They both slid onto the ice easily, Matthew making a few turns to make sure his skates were the right size and tight enough on his feet. The boys were lined up professionally, waiting to be picked and both Russia and Canada scrutinized them. Standing side by side, Matthew asked, "Who're the specified goaltenders?"

Ivan translated and four of the sixteen players stepped forward. Getting into the mood, Canada gave a wide smile, excitement sparkling in his eyes as he looked to Ivan, "Who chooses first?"

Russia returned the smile (that lessened the mood actually) as he took out a coin ruble, "Heads or tails, comrade Matvey?"

"Tails." He called as the coin was tossed, gaining some major height, flipping rapidly, before landing in Ivan's large hand.

"Yours." Canada smiled and looked to the four boys, judging by appearance alone was difficult, he knew nothing of their skills, but the one at the end was tall, looked fast, and seemed confident by the way he held himself up. Matthew pointed to him and the kid gave a small smile, sliding over to Matthew's side of the rink.

Ivan chose a kid with similar build who let out a whoop, grinning confidently as he moved to the left side. The pickings continued until both nations were confident in their team; Matthew made sure to get some big, mean looking offense liners, and Ivan concentrated on his defense.

A commotion on the sidelines caught their attention and Matthew had to stifle a laugh as he saw the coach whose eyes went comically wide, jaw dropped, and stuttering uselessly as he shook the hand of the President of Russia. Matthew and Ivan made their way to the boards and Canada was pleasantly surprised to see his own Prime Minister, Harper there.

Reaching over the half walls to greet his boss, Matthew and Harper smiled, "We were in a meeting when Mr. Braginski called with his offer to watch the game. So we decided to take a break."

"Mr. Williams I presume?" Medvedev asked, and Matthew gave a polite smile and a firm shake of the hand. "It is nice to finally meet you."

"You too sir, thank you for coming."

"Of course, who said world leaders cannot take time off to watch a friendly game of Hockey?"

Ivan gave a large smile after introducing himself to Harper, "It will be fun, da?"

"I'm sure it will be. Now, don't let us interrupt, please, continue."

Matthew and Ivan gave respectful nods in return before turning back to the ice, Russia calling over his shoulder to the coach (who was still in shock) and the old man moved into action. He was to be the referee; hopefully he wouldn't be too distracted by the very important people who randomly showed up to game practice on a Sunday morning to do his job.

Everyone got into place, Ivan and Matthew in the middle as they were centers to start the face-off. Canada took a deep breath. Violet eyes of the same shade and yet of different intensities locked and the two nations blocked everything out, their minds on the game. They watched the ref's hand closely as he held the puck. The clock started and the black rubber fell as if in slow motion. Then it hit the ice, and time was suddenly racing.

Canada struck out with lightning reflexes, his stick sweeping the puck and snapping it back to his left wing who also sprung into action. The puck in his possession, the boy raced for the goal, dodging the opposing offense and passing the puck to his teammate on the right as Ivan's defense closed in.

Matthew slid past Russia, skating up the center in quick bursts, gaining speed. He followed his right wing man who held the puck and as the boy was suddenly body checked by a defenseman, Matthew hooked the puck under his control, using his speed and agility to slide to the right as he sent the puck to the goal. But it didn't make it in. The goaltender fell to his knees to block and the rubber skipped off his skate and back to center ice.

Ivan was suddenly there, sweeping the puck up and taking a sharp turn back for Matthew's side of the court. Canada skated after him, catching up quickly, and attempting to gain back the puck, however Ivan was surprisingly fast himself. He made a shot, but Matthew's choice in goaltender didn't prove him wrong. The boy stopped the rubber between the folds of his leg pads.

A face-off was called and the two nations stood ready at the left circle. The coach once again held the puck up high, dropping it in such a way that it seemed to take forever for it to hit the ground. But when it did, Matthew was all over it, taking it from Ivan quickly, and not without a smirk.

All the way back to the neutral zone, and on into the opposing zones, Matthew played toss with his two wingmen, setting them up for a goal that would surely pass this time. He was within distance, the puck guided by his stick… and then he was checked, a large shoulder of one Ivan Braginski shoved into his side, and his balance was offset. He crashed to the ice, wincing as his side hit the hard cold floor, but before he could even get his breath back he scrambled to get up.

Ivan was already gone though, sliding up the ice easily, passing the puck to his left wingman who took a shot; again it was stopped.

Slightly angry at his carelessness, Matthew slid over to the circle, giving a displeased look to Ivan who looked pretty happy in return. "Pay attention Matvey."

The puck hit the ice, and with a new determination, Matthew fought for it, taking it away and back once again to the neutral zone. An attacker came close to hitting him, but he swerved away, the puck easily manipulated around him. He passed it to his right offense who was clear and a defense man sped for the guy, hoping to get there on time.

The boy made a shot, the goaltender fell forward, but the puck was off; it went past the net, hit the boards and sailed back to the right where both Matthew and Ivan dove for it, Canada's stick slapped it back to the goal just as Russia's body slammed into him, and a loud buzzing sound rang through the stadium.

The white team cheered and Matthew couldn't help but laugh from his position on the ground, he sat up to look at Ivan, who bore a frown. His expression made it all the more hilarious, and Matthew's gloved hand patted Ivan's forearm through his fit of giggles, "Pay attention."

A violet glare was sent his way, but Matthew's good mood couldn't be frightened away. They stood up and joined at the center to start things over again.

The first twenty minutes went by fast, Matthew's goal being the only success during that period. Ivan had some pretty close calls and Canada's team, while ahead score-wise, were definitely getting bruised.

As the period ended and the eighteen minute intermission began, both teams split to sit at the benches. The boys seemed tired, but Matthew and Ivan weren't even short of breath. Their bet seemed like a distant memory for the moment, and Canada was smiling, enjoying the competition.

Ivan was more subdued, probably a little irked at the fact that the blonde was ahead, but Matthew was just surprised to see the determination set in his face. He had never seen that expression on Russia and was quite proud that he had put it there. It proved that such a soft, passive aggressive nation such as he could make Russia work and actually take him seriously –at least at Hockey, if not, in the political world.

Matthew's team seemed to have gained respect for the small blonde who could not even speak their language; they patted his back and grinned in victory. The excitement, mixed with adrenalin, spread all around and Canada's confidence grew, even though he knew it was only the beginning. Ivan was sure to make a comeback. Russia was only just now getting into it, and when they finally went head-to-head, things were sure to get a lot more interesting.

The second period began with an unpleasant change on Matthew's part. Ivan immediately took control of the puck, dodging and passing his opponents effortlessly. Canada slid right beside Russia, stopping a potential goal and fighting to take the puck, but Ivan kept twisting away at the last second. The area in front of the goaltender was packed with bodies, the defense fighting off Ivan's wingmen, Canada faced with Ivan himself.

Their eyes locked and Matthew practically growled at the humor found in Ivan's eyes; he was thoroughly enjoying making Canada frustrated. Swinging around, Matthew got right in Ivan's space, back hitting the huge man's chest, stopping his forward path and taking the puck. His skates turned left, gliding him into a complete 180 and successfully out of Russia's face. But Ivan simply followed; right on his tail, gaining speed and Matthew knew he couldn't be caught with the puck in his possession when he went down.

He passed it to his left wing quickly, seconds before he was harshly slammed into the half wall separating the ice from the stands. The edge of the barrier dug into his gut and he winced as the full weight of both of them cut his breathing off and blurred his vision with the intensity. The strange kol kol kol chuckle of the man behind him echoed next to this ear and Ivan was slow to get off, "Good play, Matvey."

Matthew turned, taking in deep breaths. He couldn't be mad at the Russian, despite the unnecessary strength behind his tackle. But he was definitely angry to find that his pain was for nothing. His left wingman who had been in control of the puck had also gone down, and one of Ivan's attackers had flown back to the goaltender, making a shot, and scoring; a loud horn signifying the goal.

They were now tied 1-1.

From then on Matthew and Ivan seemed more focused on keeping each other out of reach, rather than getting too close. Whenever one or the other had control of the puck, they went through more complicated maneuvers to keep the other at a distance. However, if one of their human teammates was in possession of the rubber, the two were extremely close, fighting the other off to protect the poor fool who had it from getting creamed by a whole nation.

And sometimes it failed; one of Matthew's offense men was rushed off the ice with a dislocated shoulder after a body check by Russia. A defense man of Ivan's was also carried away when Matthew struck him; the boy went down so hard he broke his arm.

As third period came around, things proceeded to get more violent. None of it was classified as intentional, so the referee couldn't call penalty, but it was an unspoken rule that Russia and Canada keep the roughhousing to themselves, to protect the human teammates from their own team leaders.

At one point, Canada had slammed himself into Ivan so hard the boards cracked and crumbled underneath the hulking nation and Russia grunted as he stood, holding a hand to his side with a giddy laugh. Matthew apologized as he got up beside him, "I didn't mean to hit you so hard."

"It is fine, comrade, I am impressed." The grin sent his way told Matthew that Russia was definitely paying him back for that one.

With fifteen minutes left in the game, Matthew and Ivan finally seemed out of breath, their fighting starting to get the better of them, Russia himself was noticeably starting to slow. In fact, ever since they got serious, during the second period, the huge man looked to be exhausted. Matthew wondered if it was because they hadn't played hockey in such a long while. For Matthew, it had been at least a month; there had been so much work lately, he hadn't had time for the sport.

But Ivan's look of determination kept him from saying anything, not that the nation would appreciate it if he did, and their rivalry continued with brutal intensity.

With Ivan's right wingman in control of the puck, Matthew took position in front of his goal as a second goaltender, hoping to stop any kind of shot. A defense man shoved the player out of the way, and the human's struggled to claim it, the puck slid momentarily free before Matthew and Ivan swooped in. They battled for it, Ivan swinging in with his stick like he would his metal pipe. Canada ducked at the last second, feeling the wood skip across his helmet and he shoved his shoulder into the man like a linebacker, pushing with all his might to get Russia away.

It worked, as Ivan wobbled off balance long enough for Matthew to get clear. Using as much speed as he could to maneuver the puck to the other side of the rink, he closed in on the goal, the man in front crouched and ready. Matthew pulled back, taking aim, before something savagely smashed into him. In a fraction of a second his head made contact with the ice and he yelped as his helmet flew off. The puck slid across the ice, the goaltender made a dive, but the rubber sailed past his arm and into the net. The horn blared and people cheered, but Matthew was too dizzy to get up and jump around like his team. The clock had twenty-five seconds left… it was over, Canada won.

Russia sat up, looking around with a faint scowl, cheeks red much like Matthew's from the heat. Their hair stuck to their faces, their clothes were soaked in sweat. They were both breathing hard, tired and glad that it was over. "You alright, comrade Matvey?" Ivan asked of the boy still sprawled out on the ground, he might have lost, but it would be Matthew taken to the hospital.

"I'm fine I just… got run over by a tank." Russia laughed like a child, happy to have caused so much pain.

"Mr. Williams!"

Canada turned his head to see Harper and Medvedev on the sidelines, they looked concerned and Matthew raised his arm to offer a thumbs-up. The referee skated over to check up on him but Canada finally moved. He struggled to stand, holding a hand to his head. "I want ice cream after this," He glanced up at Ivan who still seemed rather smug. "That hurt."

"Da, you played a good game."

"Braginski, my friend, we must go." Russia's boss called and the two nations slid up to say their farewells. Matthew a little embarrassed by their state to be meeting such important people. He always tried to look professional in front of his boss, not to mention any other world leaders. But considering the casual atmosphere and the fact that really, they just played a game of hockey, it was impossible to be well groomed after something like that and nobody seemed to mind. The President of Russia and Prime Minister of Canada left with a warm goodbye.

The white shirts of his team gathered around Matthew, speaking in excited tones and praises that Canada didn't understand but blushed and smiled anyway. It was hot, crowded, and noisy, and he just wanted to get changed and relax. Russia left for the lockers and Canada tried to get away and follow.

He stepped into the changing room with a sigh, tearing off his pads and unlacing his skates. Russia was found on a bench, sitting with his back to Matthew, looking to be resting himself. Matthew took his clothes and went behind a divider to change. He was looking forward to a nice hot shower once they got back to Ivan's place.

He left the locker room when he was done to look for Kumajirou, finding him just where he had left the bear. "Hey, Kumodon, I won!"

"Yay." The bear mumbled, as he was woken from his nap.

"You should be happy for me, I'm not going to be a slave." Matthew replied. Canada picked his friend up carefully, as the coach come over.

The man said a happy "good game" although his accent was so strong the blonde was hard pressed to understand. He smiled anyway and shook the man's hand. "Спасибо," He thanked him, and cheerily waved to the boys on the ice; many looked on the verge of fainting from exhaustion.

…oOo…

Russia took deep breaths, glad to be left alone for the moment. His head pounded, and the edges of his vision kept clouding over in darkness. His fever had come back sometime during the second period. His adrenalin and desire to win were the only things that kept him from collapsing. Nonetheless, by the time the game was over his body had begun to fail. He was slower he'd realized, and then there had been moments in which the puck disappeared from his sight. Not because of the rubber's speed but because his eyes couldn't see straight.

Canada's tackles didn't help either, that was for sure. He had to admit, he was impressed. He really didn't expect the kid to have such a strong hit. Although, observing Alfred's strength made it all the more believable.

Sitting at the bench, he leaned forward to unlace his skate gear, large fingers fumbling with the laces. His hands shook; whether from the excitement still in his body, fatigue, or the fever, he didn't know. His vision kept cutting out and his motor skills were failing. The knot of his skate strings couldn't be undone and he growled at them, as if he could scare them into untying themselves. In a fit of frustration he forgot about the skates and threw off his pads and helmet with fury, the equipment sailing across the room.

He heard the doors open and leaned back as if he were relaxing, which was partly true, his breath starting to even out a little. But his muscles seized and he tried hard to keep himself from visibly shaking all over. Matthew came in quietly, taking off his own gear and setting things neatly in a pile before changing. Thankfully, the boy left soon after and Ivan leaned over to try and untangle his skates again.

Time went by, more than enough for his body to wind down from the game, but his hands still trembled violently and his sight hadn't improved. What was worse, he felt nauseated to the point that he was afraid to move or else he wouldn't make it to the bathroom in time. His breathing was loud in the empty room; slightly irregular and wet, causing him to cough.

He leaned his head against the lockers behind him, closing his eyes and trying to get over whatever had him so ensnared, especially when the sound of footsteps reached his ears. "Russia, you've been in here for ten minutes, what's going on?"

Canada came in with his annoying bear in his arms, a semi-worried look on his face that made Ivan want to scoff. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure-"

"Da, now leave, I'll be there soon."

Canada made a slight turn, as if he was going to obey, but then stopped, fully facing Russia with a new glint in his mauve eyes, "Your fever came back, didn't it?" The blonde scrutinized him, looking for signs that he was feeling unwell, and Ivan tried to hide it, glaring at the boy who stubbornly refused to listen to a damn thing he said.

That, however, didn't convince him, and Matthew came over with that stupid hand outstretched to touch his forehead and be all doctor-like. Russia growled, attempting to move out of the way but the nauseated feeling in his stomach protested against that and his vision swam. His whole body ached at the move.

Canada's hand touched his face and the boy let out a gasp, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"We were in the middle of a game, I was not going to stop because of a small recession."

"Small? Your fever is dangerously high! You could have gotten hurt," His whispered voice was extremely annoying and Ivan put off a threatening aura that Matthew didn't seem to pay attention to anymore. "Come on, I'll take you home."

Matthew kneeled in front of him to unlace his skates with a quick efficiency that made Russia angry,

"Will you just stop touching me? Take the hint and leave."

The blond huffed, "Stand up then!"

He moved to do just that, to prove to himself that he could and to shut the stupid nation up. The skates still on his feet made it hard to balance and his vision blackened around the edges, the room seeming to tip and tilt like a fun-house. Matthew suddenly had to take hold of his arm as he wobbled too far to the left. "Alright, alright, sit down. I can't carry you."

"Then don't."

"You're not exactly holding yourself up," Russia fell back down, muttering obscenities in Russian that Matthew was thankful to not understand. He bent over to take off the man's skates, and gave the man his clothes. "I don't think you need help with this."

Another curse in Russian and Matthew flinched at the tone, turning around to give the man privacy. "Done," Ivan said through clenched teeth.

Matthew sighed, "Where are the keys?"

"I'm not letting you drive."

"Why not, you can't walk."

"I don't need to walk for that! Now leave it alone before I do something very unpleasant."

"Will you stop threatening me after every single thing I try and do?"

"Then stop trying to do stupid things!"

Matthew let out a scream of frustration, throwing his hands up in the air, "You're impossible!" Everything was quiet for a few seconds; the air tense as Ivan glowered from his seat and Matthew let his anger fade, thinking of some kind of plan that would get the man to listen to him for once. "Look, can you please just let me help?"

"I don't need-"

Obviously, that wasn't going to work; new plan, "I won the bet." Ivan's mouth clicked shut and his violet gaze grew darker. In the back of his mind, Matthew felt bad rubbing it in his face and blackmailing the nation into obeying, but when dealing with Russia, saying please seemed to mean absolutely nothing.

"Your terms: I was to be your ally. That does not mean you get to order me around, little one."

"My terms were that we were to be friends, not just comrades or allies. I'm not ordering you around, I'm merely helping… as a friend. And as a friend, you should let me."

Ivan growled not looking happy at all as he dug into his jeans pocket, extracting the keys and practically throwing them to the blond. Canada sighed, watching Ivan carefully as he stood, ready to assist if needed even though Russia looked murderous. And the Russian was all for punching the kid's face if he tried anything.

Together they made it out of the stadium, Ivan stopping just out the door as the sunlight burned his eyes and made his headache pound. With a tentative hand on Ivan's arm, he guided the man to the car, opening the passenger door for him. Kumajirou jumped in after, settling on the man's lap. Russia was too sick to complain, thankfully.

It was a good thing he was aware enough to give directions as Matthew wasn't certain where or how to get back, but Ivan's house wasn't too far and Canada was relieved to park the Porsche in the garage. He ran to the other side to open the door, taking the man's arm and bracing it over his shoulder, helping him into the house. They traveled to the bedroom where Matthew sat him on the mattress. He quickly jogged to the kitchen to gather a bowl and wash rag.

"Russia?" The man said nothing and Matthew let out an explosive breath as he got to work bringing the fever down. _This infuriating man is going to drive me crazy._

Hours passed and Canada had long ago settled himself in one of the armchairs within the room, every once in a while he'd check up on the man bundled in the covers. His fever was steadily falling but had yet to break. Just about to doze off, he jumped awake when Ivan spoke, his voice unusually quiet, "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what," He asked, Matthew's own voice a mere whisper; partly because that was his nature and partly because he didn't want to disturb the peace. "Helping you?" No reply. "I already said I couldn't just leave you."

"You don't know me."

"We're both nations, that's enough for me."

"That's even worse. If it were me-"

"You'd turn me into a slave, yeah, you mentioned that. Good thing you didn't win the game or you would have gotten that, eh?"

Nothing but the sound of Russia's heavy breaths echoed in the room for a long while and then, "I would not have hurt you."

_That's not the point_, Canada thought but he held his tongue, curious that Russia would even admit such a thing. Ivan's fever was high, the man had to be delirious, but this was the chance to get some answers, and no matter how bad he might feel for taking advantage, Matthew wanted to know. "What would you have done then?"

"Made you stay," The words were slurred. Matthew blinked, looking at the man and not quite understanding. "I would have made you… stay. In this empty house. It's so empty, but it used to be full."

Eyes widening in comprehension, Matthew got up from his seat to stand by the bed, "R-Russia-"

"Why does it always end up like this?" The violet eyes were glazed, staring at the ceiling, as if Ivan had escaped reality somehow and ended up reliving his past. "I made this nation stronger and more prestigious than any other by myself. I worked… hard. Why is it," A pause, a hitched breath, and Matthew felt like he was beyond intruding. Listening to such a strong country lose part of his mind; admitting to weaknesses like this. He didn't deserve to know any of this. They weren't close, even if he spouted things like friendship and alliances, this was too much and yet, he felt honored, because even if Russia was in the middle of a delirium, the man was saying these things to _him_.

"Why is it that nothing goes right? Why do they always end up hating me?" Emotion was thick in his voice, but Russia did not cry, he wasn't weak enough to cry. He did not bend to the feelings in his chest. But it hurt, the emotion hurt more than he ever thought it would; loneliness, anger, guilt, betrayal, pity… his sacrifice meant nothing to anybody. "Everyone always says it's my fault- my fault. I've endured it for centuries. Everyone… left and I don't understand. Was I so wrong? Did they… hate me so much?"

Matthew dabbed at the man's face with the wet rag, staying quiet, letting the nation speak, but Canada's own eyes began to sting with tears, looking at the country's face in sympathy.

"This place, my home… I thought I knew it. But I don't… I don't understand. What do I do? What do they want from me? What… what more can I give them? Tell me."

Slowly sitting on the side of the bed, Matthew spoke softly, hesitantly, "You should find out. Relearn your culture; spend time with your people. You… live in the past Russia, things are different now. Time has changed things." Ivan was focused on him, not at the ceiling and Matthew wondered if the man was conscious enough to retain this information when he got better. "Your people need you, and they love you. You are them. But… instead of connecting with them, you isolate yourself. They've continued on with their lives, With every new generation there are new ideas and influences. They forget about the past so very quickly while we still heal from whatever battle came before."

Refreshing the towel, he placed it back on Ivan's forehead with a kind smile, "You must love yourself Russia before you can love others."

"I don't…" Know how.

Ivan couldn't bring himself to say it but Canada knew. "Then I'll help." Russia furrowed his brow in confusion. "As a friend, you have full rights to ask me to stay."

It took a long time for Ivan to process exactly what Matthew meant, but when he did, he looked even more confused and a little wary. "Then… stay."

Canada hummed, "Put that in the form of a question."

"… Stay?"

"Oh, how convincing, I suppose I could- if you insist, just stop the begging." Ivan obviously didn't find that funny and Matthew's chuckle turned awkward. "Ok, so you should rest. Your fever's still pretty high."

"Da." Ivan turned onto his side, burrowing further under the covers as Matthew reached over to turn off the nightstand lamp. He crossed the room, back to the armchair and settled in for a long night of restless sleep, and this time, it wouldn't be because the chair was uncomfortable (like the one at the hotel). Ivan's words replayed again and again in his mind, the man's face burned into his memory.

…Thank You…

Thank you all so much for reviewing! My goal of 45 was blown clear out the water, which was so awesome, you guys. Really, you all rock!

Anyway, this is an extra long chapter for you fine readers. I have to admit, it was kind of difficult to write; I like hockey, but I don't watch it all that often, and I was kind of worried about how I managed to describe it. The thesaurus came in handy. XD

I was also worried if the jump at the end was too quick. I tried to keep Ivan in character as much as I could while still making him all sick and depressed. But that doesn't mean he's going to be all nice and cheery now that Canada and Russia had a moment. Oh no, they're still going to be "pecking at each other like a pair of grouchy old hens" – to quote J. Froste (that was a great simile).

PS: Some of you probably recognize some words that Russia says; it's from the comics about Ivan's history. The sentence fit so well, so I incorporated them; the situation is completely different of course.

Please review! My goal is… 76! How about that? :)

_Translations:_

Нет (Russian): No

Спасибо (Russian): Thank you

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Hockey, the President of Russia, the Prime Minister of Canada, or Hetalia.


	6. Поражение: Defeat

Chapter 6: Поражение: Defeat

"_Baby, I know you're hurting right now,"_ Matthew shifted. _"But don't worry." _The words were whispered, like a lover. Lips to his ear, hot breath making him shiver, but they made no sense. _"I'll be your superman._"

Nothing more was said and Canada tried to focus on something else besides this strange dream of his. _"I can love you like no one can,"_ The voice kept going, obviously not finished with his declaration. Matthew wondered who it was, and why they thought he needed a superhero, he had one already, sadly enough, although he wasn't much help. "_I can be your superman."_

Didn't he already say that? _"Just take my hand lets fly away, I promise I'll be there every day."_ Um… could he say no? Really, what was with this dream? Trying to be romantic when using sappy rhymes? Canada had to admit, he wasn't interested in this at all and had begun to wake up…

Blinking at the lack of light, Mathew sat up, a wide yawn splitting his mouth wide, the clock on Ivan's nightstand read three am and Canada fell back into the chair, determined to go back to sleep. He had yet to get an hour of undisturbed sleep since the hockey game. He'd been too busy running back and forth with towels, blankets, and water.

"_Just close your eyes, let's start to fly."_ Ugh, the guy just couldn't take a hint. Wait a second, he was awake now. Why were strange men still whispering endearing, but completely nonsensical words to him? _"I'm gonna love you until I die."_ Now that he listened more attentively, he found that the words were not said directly into his ear but from the chair he sat in. His phone!

Fetching the red plastic from his back pocket, the source turned out to be a ringtone that he _knew_ he hadn't set up. He hadn't even heard it of before. _"Until the day of my death, to my very last breath, I'm gonna love you when no one's left." _But looking at the caller ID, he knew he probably should have expected that; Alfred. He wondered if he should answer; did America realize he was not home? Was he just checking up on his little brother's sickness? Or was he merely bored and wanting to gossip about some new game he bought? Or how about the fact that it was _three_ in the freaking _morning_?

"_Come fly with me baby, yeah I'm the one, with the 'S' on my chest-"_ Yeah, that was getting annoying. He opened the phone, taking a deep breath and hoping that the conversation wouldn't last long.

"Yes, Al?"

"Mattie," His brother's voice came in two tones; hyperactive and whiney. This one happened to be the latter.

"What happened?"

"I'm bored! Iggy kicked me out of his house because he said I made his cold even worse. I just tried to give him some hamburgers! My McDonald's cures everything!"

"No Alfred… no it doesn't."

"Yes it does," He dragged the last vowel out like he was dying or something equally dramatic. "And Canada likes my fast food, don't deny it!"

"It's fast and easy, and it may taste ok, but that does not mean, in any way, shape or form, that your food is good for anyone. It's unhealthy and it definitely does not cure any illness."

"Y-you're so cruel." The American sniffled and began to fake-cry on the other line, very poorly, might Matthew add.

"So what did you want, Al? I'm kind of busy."

"Didn't you hear anything I just said?"

"Of course, but what do you want from me?"

"Arthur kicked me out so I have nothing to do, I tried to play some games but Tony really did hide them and I haven't found them yet. I'm coming over ok?"

So he didn't realize his brother was gone at all, not that that surprised him. Although, why would Alfred believe him to be anywhere else? "You can't I'm not there! I'm… at a business meeting. It's going to last a while. Very busy, can't do anything else."

He was a very bad liar. "Since when? We were ordered to rest, remember? Besides, weren't you sick?"

Oh, now he remembers. "It cleared up. Anyway, this work can't wait."

"You're such a stick in the mud, bro. Don't worry, I'll save you from… whatever boring thing you're doing. We can play catch or something!"

_Mon Dieu, no! Please, anything but that!_ Baseball was probably his most hated sport because of Alfred. He was sure he'd be pretty good at the game if he was given a _chance_ but when the pitcher was America; superhuman strength, ultimate speed and curve ball, America… well, he ended up with more injuries than a game of hockey ever gave him. _And they said Baseball wasn't a contact sport…_

"Alfred, really, this work can't wait. And I'm far… far up north." If anything, the sordid cold would keep his brother away. America hated his arctic weather.

There was a pause on the other end, "How far up north?"

"Ellesmere Island," He named off the farthest territory that was dubbed part of Canada. Alfred's confusion could be felt over the line; expect America to not know where the hell that was. "North pole Alfred," Matthew snapped. He was tired, he wanted sleep and while it might have been something like six or seven o'clock in New York, it was definitely three am in Moscow. "I'm as far up as the North Pole. Three minutes out here without proper gear and you freeze to death."

"Why the hell would you go there?"

"Cause its part of my country," He answered matter-of-factly. For someone who embodied all of his land and people it was important to visit every inch of his home as frequently as he could, no matter how vast. Even places like Cape Columbia; the most Northern city within his borders, a mere eight hundred kilometers from the North Pole deserved his attention. No matter how turbulent the weather was, no matter how cold it got, nor the fact that it remained dark as night for months during winter, it was still a part of him. America just wasn't used to the temperatures like he was. "Anyway, it's about the preservation parks and stuff. I have to go, I'll be back..." _Ugh, that's right, I now have to stay here for a whole month._ "Soon." He'd just leave it at that.

"You damn tree-hugger," Alfred snickered over the phone and Matthew sighed, the insult was not a new one. "Fine, fine, I see how it is, _don't_ hang out with your big brother- let him die of boredom."

_Just hang up Alfred!_ "You won't die, promise." He continued before he could be interrupted, "I'll call you tomorrow or something, okay? I have to go."

"Bye." He sounded so dejected, but Matthew's sleep deprived mind convinced him that he really didn't care. He hung up the phone and stood clumsily, stumbling to the bed to check on the prostrate man laying there. Monitoring the Russian's temperature, he refreshed the towel and replaced it on his forehead for what felt like the millionth time. Ivan was in a fitful sleep, but his fever had been slowly going down. Matthew yawned as he attempted to make the man more comfortable, Kumajirou, once again stealing the bed's horde of pillows as he slept. He took one from his friend (he wouldn't miss it seeing as he had three others) and brought it back to the chair.

Settling in for another few hours of on-and-off rest, Canada was so tired he didn't notice the violet eyes watching him carefully from the bed.

…oOo…

The sound of birds chirping outside the window was what awoke Matthew this time. The sun shine was dulled quite a bit from the heavy curtains, but was still enough to brighten the room in subtle rays. He stretched lazily, popping his joints and yawning, rubbing his eyes and trying to wake up even though his body felt weighed down, unconvinced that it was time to get up.

He stood up from the chair, making his way to the bed but stopping short as he found it empty of a certain ill nation. The covers were mussed and tossed, pillows scattered across the huge mattress. Kumajirou looked undisturbed, sleeping away.

Matthew heard nothing from the man's bathroom and so he continued to make his way to the living room, finally finding Ivan in the kitchen, leaning against the countertop with a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. He looked different; his hair, so light it couldn't be called blonde but white, looked un-brushed, the ends standing up in places. His eyes drooped and slight shadows were beginning to show underneath. Matthew knew he didn't look much better.

They appeared, moved, and spoke as if they were hung over. Every noise like a hammer to their skulls, every step a ball and chain dragging them down. The energy felt sapped from their bodies and neither of them had the strength to nitpick or argue as they both fell onto a bar stool, sipping coffee (straight black for both of them because the caffeine was desperately needed) and trying to wake up, feel better, and think on what to do next.

"Do you… remember last night?" Matthew started hesitantly.

"Da," Ivan's voice was scratchy, he coughed, took a drink, leaned on the counter more and sighed. "You can forget whatever I said, I was not thinking right."

"Well… I meant what I said." Russia did not answer, his lips thinning not quite in anger but more of a… begrudging acceptance of Canada's annoying personality, it seemed like he was already expecting that for an answer. "I'll stay."

"What if I don't want you to?"

"You wouldn't have said it otherwise."

"I was delirious. You're going to hold an ill man's words against him?"

"Well… yes."

They both took another sip of coffee, sighing at the warmth and at the revitalization they were beginning to feel. "The last thing I need is your pity. Stop trying to help me."

"I wish you would stop saying that, everyone needs help sometimes, it's impossible to do everything yourself. And it's not pity at all- I truly have no motivation other than to see you well."

Russia glared, and when coupled with his less than healthy appearance, it was even more terrifying than usual to be on the receiving end of it. "Your attempts at heroism make me sick, stop being so nice and," He paused to think of the word. "Munificent. I don't need it, and if I did, it wouldn't be from you."

Ivan stood sluggishly, making his way back to the coffee machine to refill his mug. Matthew took a deep breath, looking into the almost empty cup of his own. The man was right. He needed to stop being so nice all the time, it only got him in trouble and it only allowed people to walk all over him. "F-fine," He sighed. "I'm going to help you whether you consent to it or n-not. So you have to deal with it. And if I need an ulterior motive I…" He gulped, finding this much harder than he though. _Think like Alfred! He can always speak his mind!_ "Well, I've gained an ally, and a friend. And if I ever need help, I can just… bring this up or something and you'll have to repay me… or something."

Canada stubbornly refused to look up from his coffee and from his peripheral vision he could see that Ivan had not moved, his violet eyes trained on him. He couldn't see the man's face but he braced himself for anger, possibly even pain.

"That's it?" Ivan asked. The voice did not hold any threats like Matthew had expected. Slowly, he brought his gaze up to see Russia's face. It was otherwise blank but for the raised eyebrows, Matthew couldn't figure out the expression. "That is your demanding voice?"

_He's making fun of me…_ Matthew didn't know whether to scowl or be successfully cowed. The words stung; he knew he wasn't good at being confrontational. Canada was shy, quiet, and neutral in everything that didn't involve him (unlike his brother who always expressed his opinions). He was a firm peace-maker. His voice; merely a whisper, was made to comfort and provide, not to demand or convince anyone with threats. He never made threats- well, unless it was in desperate times, like war of course, but even then his words held no value unless backed up by military might.

This was not a desperate situation. He had no weaponry on him besides the gun he carried in his bag (all the way upstairs) and his threat was so very weak. Not only was he particularly small in build for a country (despite his actual land mass), he was not very developed in the muscle department. All he really had going for him was his speed, reflex, and intellect. That meant nothing against Russia, and those skills were not particularly useful when trying to bully someone into doing as they were told.

He was the stereotypical bookworm nerd going against the psychopathic jock from hell, who had absolutely no morals during battle. Matthew just made himself out to be a complete fool.

He snapped his head back down to the counter. "I-I'm sorry."

"How do you get anything done in your country?"

"I d-do fine, people listen to m-me." _Sometimes. Other times they just laugh._ _Or plain ignore me, like always._

"Not very convincing." Ivan stated as he sat back at the counter, sipping at his coffee. Matthew remained silent; he didn't want to talk about this anymore. "First of all, you have to speak louder. I could barely hear you. You also can't stutter. That's simply ridiculous. And you're not supposed to apologize after making a threat."

"I said I get along f-fine."

"You still have not convinced me. That was incredibly weak."

"P-please stop. I don't want to talk about t-this anymore."

"Make me you pathetic little boy." Matthew closed his eyes, feeling the sting of tears. He kept his mouth shut, knowing he couldn't do that. "You're so easy to push around. I wonder why nobody has taken over you and your wretched nation yet."

"P-please Russia-"

"Do you rely on your brother for protection then? Da, that must be it, there is no way a nation such as yourself could do anything worthwhile."

"That's not true, I-I was in World War II. I fought."

"Did you? Because I do not remember you. You must not be important enough to be recognized as an allied power."

No matter how tightly shut Matthew kept his eyes the tears began to leak. That was not true, he did a lot in the war. His country had been rather poor after the Great Depression, his body weak. But he still declared war in 1939 with little military strength and no modern weaponry or training under his belt. He had to teach himself the ways of war through experience and loss of men. He defended England from Germany's forces when the threat of invasion was at its highest. He protected his father as he continued to work in order to free France from Ludwig's rule. Sent his people food, supplies, men, aircrafts, and vehicles; anything that he could spare went to England.

Canada fought against Italy; the invasion of Sicily in 1943 being his first great battle in which he succeeded and came out victorious. For many, fighting against the Italian brothers was easy (at least back then). After all, Feliciano switched hands from England to France to America many times over the war, but Canada was the first. Nobody remembered that?

On D-day, with the invasion of Normandy, he dropped his men on the beach-front with America and England side-by-side, and yet he, _Matthew_, was the one to breach further into France than any other Allied power.

He freed the Netherlands; liberated them from German clutches. Holland had been thankful back then, but the nation probably didn't even remember his name now. He was always forgotten so easily.

He fought beside his brother against Japan; protecting both Hong Kong and Alaska from the Japanese bombing raids. He lost so many, sacrificed so much and yet, his involvement in the war was merely a footnote.

It severely pissed him off. The casualties he'd suffered, the men that died- the blood, sweat, and tears he put into the war to help- treated like nothing at all. Cast aside like it didn't matter, like the Allied forces would have been completely fine without his assistance. Perhaps they would have… maybe he hadn't been needed at all and they would have won anyway.

So what? He'd worked for it! He'd put everything he had into giving support to the ones he cared about, and nobody could say differently. "You don't understand! I did a lot in World War II, I helped, and I won. It doesn't matter if Canada is only mentioned as a significant member of the Allied Powers. You have no right to belittle my actions! No right at all!"

"Such a child you are, stop crying like a baby-"

"Shut up! S-stop insulting me at every turn and look at yourself, you're not exactly all that brilliant either. At least my actions were truly meant to protect those I care I about. All you've done is destroy and manipulate a-and _hate_."

"Da, you've been nothing but noble." His tone held sarcasm and Matthew scoffed, getting up from his chair in a hurry. He wiped his face with his sleeve as he rinsed his coffee mug in the sink, the left over liquid inside had long since turned cold and he set it in the dishwasher with shaking hands. "You're very entertaining."

"I'm glad being such an asshole amuses you." Matthew sneered, a rarely used expression that didn't seem right on his face.

Ivan paused, "It took a lot to get you angry. You still stuttered, but your insults became much more effective. You get particularly flustered when I insult your family." He tilted his head to the side in childish curiosity. "You should stand up for yourself more, da? Not just those who raised you."

Canada frowned, wondering what was going on now. Was Ivan just trying to get him mad to see how far he could be pushed before snapping? Should he be taking that last sentence as a compliment or another insult?

Russia came to stand beside him, placing his mug in the dishwasher as well. "I lied," He said with a light smile and Matthew felt trapped against this hulking man and the hard counter behind him. Blue-violet eyes stayed on the ground, his form still shaking slightly from the burn of anger and the touch of fear inside him.

"You l-lied about what?"

"Don't start whispering again, I dislike that," Matthew could feel Russia's eyes on him, and squirmed under the gaze, very uncomfortable to say the least. "I lied about you being pathetic in the war. You were more active in East Asia than any of the other Allies. America fought Japan with passion of course, but you were more helpful to Yao and me. You also gained a reputation of being a great sniper, have you not?"

"Yes."

"The world record of the longest kill shot is currently in your hands, da?"

"Yes," He repeated. "At nearly two and a half kilometers."

"That is good." He stepped closer, and Matthew took a step back, pressed as far as he could into the counter behind him. Large arms, with biceps that Matthew's fingers couldn't fit around came to either side of him. Canada couldn't breathe. "Now, how are you planning on helping me?"

Blinking, mauve orbs steadily rose to look at Russia's face, a bit confused and surprised at the change in topic. "You're going to let me?"

"Da."

"But I thought you didn't-"

"I could not ask this of my sisters, for obvious reasons. You're too quiet, too weak, but you're not as pathetic as I originally thought. Besides, you have so kindly offered to stay a whole month with me. Something I had intended to make you do anyway. I do not feel well and your cleaning and cooking is helpful. There is nothing to do aside from work. This will at least prove to be entertaining."

"O-oh…" What was he supposed to say to that? The distance between them made him choke in fear, and Ivan's face held a mixture of suspicious glee and malicious anticipation.

"Now, how are you planning on helping me?" Ivan asked again. "And don't lie or be nice about it."

Matthew tried to take deep breaths, thinking about what they could start with. "Um, y-you have to get in touch with your culture." Ivan wanted him to be honest… "You stay in this house all the time, you work too much, you're so caught up in the past," He gulped. "Go out, talk to people, get to know them- don't s-scare them." Russia's expression didn't change.

"What do you suppose we do first then?"

Matthew looked to the side, "Simple stuff first, I guess. Watch movies, go to parks, clubs, enjoy food, attend any kind of festivities, or sports." He gave a meek shrug, still uncomfortable with being squished over the counter. "This is about you finding yourself. Getting over the past, moving on to become a better p-person. It's your culture, you do what you want. I'm just along for the ride, eh? A-and Ukraine will be coming too, won't she?"

Finally, _finally_ Ivan straightened, moving away from Canada with a thoughtful look on his face. "Da, I will show you Russia. And my sister is more than welcome to join. However, I do _not_ want her knowing of our intentions."

A dark glare was sent Matthew's way and he subconsciously leaned back to the sink. "Of course, I won't say anything."

"Good, you better keep that oath, because if you say anything to her about this I will hurt you. And this time, it will not be just a few bruises." Matthew nodded vigorously as Russia traveled across the kitchen to the end of the counter where a phone rested; beside it, a pen and paper. "You said music and festivities. The Spasskaya Bashnya is perfect for that. Every year we host a contest between the most valiant military bands. I usually do not attend, but it will be showing next week at Red Square."

"Perfect. We can do that."

"Da, if you want tourism, we can go to the Izmailovsky Market or some of the Cathedrals… I do not believe the North Americas own anything like that."

"Ok," his posture had begun to relax with the conversation. Ivan had been writing their ideas down, his eyes no longer on the Canadian, making it a lot easier to regain a sense of normalcy. Hesitantly, Matthew walked over to see the man's writing, keeping his distance though. "Um, how about we go hiking or camping? Something nature based too."

Ivan glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, "You are interested in the land as well?"

"Of course, it's not just the people that make you- _you_. So what is your highest mountain?"

"Mount Elbrus."

"Let's make a schedule then? Week one," Matthew held a finger up. "We go to modern markets. This… Ismal-"

"Izmailovsky."

Matthew repeated the name, the words not exactly rolling off the tongue. "We go to that, and maybe a Cathedral. Those do sound interesting and you're right, neither my brother nor I have anything like that." Matthew had seen Cathedrals in Italy, England, and France, he wondered if they would be similar. "Week two can be spent with this celebration I can't even pronounce but it sounds fun. We can party or something."

Ivan nodded, making a list. "Week three: nature. Hiking in Mount Elbrus, visiting parks, we can go hunting if you want," Canada continued. "And the final week can be spent tying up loose ends; museums and history books."

"Why? What are those going to do," Russia asked.

Matthew sighed, looking away. "That is where you're going to spill the facts of your history and talk about what's got you so hung up."

Lightly frowning, Ivan looked confused and slightly amused, "You treat this as if you're a psychologist and I'm a boy with a bad childhood."

"Well," Canada began his voice dry with bitter humor. "Isn't that exactly what this is? O-only you're not a child, but a nation, and I'm in no way a qualified psychologist… but that's what we're doing."

Russia's amusement seemed to grow as he agreed. "Da," He mused. "So I'm going to go on emotionally and cry about my tragic past as you ask how that _makes me feel_?"

"Sure, we'll go with that," Matthew couldn't help but grin at the humor. Ivan opened his mouth to speak but was suddenly cut off by a ring of a doorbell. "That must be Ukraine!"

Both countries left the kitchen to greet the woman, Russia opening the door with a wide smile, "Сестра, I hope your travel went well."

"Ivan yes I-" She stopped, eyes widening, and jaw unhinging slightly. "W-what happened to you two?"

Matthew and Ivan both bore similar expressions of bewilderment as they looked down at themselves to see what had Ukraine so worried, and they found themselves in the same state they woke up in. The same clothes from yesterday that had been slept in were wrinkled, their hair messy and looking unwashed, bags under their eyes. With a wince of disgust Matthew remembered that they had forgone taking showers after their hockey game too, because of Ivan's sudden fever.

"Mon Dieu!" He yelped, feeling so embarrassed. He spun around from his fellow nations and dashed with unrivaled speed upstairs, yelling apologies over his shoulder. Ivan merely invited his sister in, excusing himself so as he could go to his own room to clean up.

…Author's Note…

Ha, wow. I didn't think their conversation would stretch for so long; they had to come to an agreement, and I had fun writing them argue, but pretty soon it became pages in length, so I decided to just post it. Think of this chapter as a kind of transition, I suppose.

Alright; some words about the stuff Russia mentioned: Spasskaya Bashnya is real, you can search for it on youtube, and it's interesting. But it's not happening this week or anything. I think it occurs sometime in May (that's the month it was held last year). Izmailovsky Souvenir Market is real too; I'll describe it in the story of course but think of it as an open square with lots of individual stands selling stuff. Secretly, I think of the Disney movie Aladdin; the markets there, that's what they remind me of.

Anyway, I kind of went on a tangent involving Canada; I get so mad when people forget America's brother, and since I'm American I'm gonna give him the spotlight! Canada has done lots of stuff, they help out a lot, and we Americans really love you! So, yay Mattie! It seems that I have quite a few readers who are Canadian too … ya damn tree-huggers. XD

Ah, you guys make me so happy. I keep putting review goals and my awesome readers surpass them every time! And so many of you put in your opinions and submit such long comments, I get just as excited responding to them as I do reading 'em. So my next goal is… 100! The big ben (sorry England).

Thanks for reading, please review!

_Translations:_

Mon Dieu (French): My God

Сестра (Russian): Sister

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own McDonalds, Superman, Hetalia, or anything besides the plot of this story. I make no money off this.


	7. Ami: Friend

Chapter 7: Ami: Friend

"That's so exciting! I'm so happy to know that you're interested in our culture, Matvey." Ukraine said, smiling kindly. They were seated in the living room, Matthew and Ivan were freshly showered and properly dressed. Now that they were clean and awake they looked much better than before.

Ivan didn't even look sick anymore, but then again Matthew came to realize that the man hid his illness very well. He started judging the country's status by focusing on the details otherwise insignificant; how attentive Russia was to the conversation, the clarity of his almost red eyes, and how much vodka he consumed.

"Well, I've always wanted to see some of the more famous sights like Red Square and St. Basil's Cathedral, but I've never had time." True, Matthew was intrigued by the many different monuments countries around the world showed off. He'd seen Big Ben in England, admired the Eiffel Tower in France, wondered at the Grand Canyon in the United States.

Traveling around the world as a type of foreign ambassador had its perks. Really, it was the only thing personified nations were trusted with; relations with other countries. It was sad that he hadn't gotten to see very many of his friends' lands, the only places he knew being in Western Europe. He realized, with a bit of guilt, that he hadn't even been to Ukraine, and he would consider them very good friends.

"No better opportunity, right брат? I'm just surprised that you've offered to give him a tour of your land. You two seem to be getting along splendidly."

Matthew kept his mouth firmly shut. Ivan smiled childishly.

"And I can't thank you and your Prime Minister enough for sending so much support," She continued, smiling at Matthew in gratitude.

Ivan looked up from the bottle of vodka in his lap, blinking in surprise, "You know of that, сестра?"

Katyusha nodded, "Medvedev made a speech about it yesterday, did you not hear?"

"Нет, I have been missing work." He replied, looking back down with a small frown, clearly not liking the illness that kept him from his regular routine. Had the fever not overtaken his body (and consequently, an annoying Canadian not holding him back) he would've been in his study then, going over documents, bills, plans. He would have known about his boss' speech, probably even been there, watching the proceedings as an inconspicuous bystander.

Instead he was sitting in his rarely used living room in a chair that he hadn't sat properly on in a little over a decade contemplating a 'vacation' as Canada had called it. His bottle of vodka seemed to be the only thing sympathizing with him, and it wasn't even the brand of alcohol he usually bought. At least he knew not to trust little Matthew to buy his precious liquor ever again. Of course, it wasn't horribly made or anything, but it was obvious that Canada did not know his alcohol.

This type of vodka was flavored with something peppered, and Russia did not like the way it slid down his throat with more of a burn than usual. Vodka was supposed to be smooth and he prided himself on consuming the highest quality alcohol available. _The boy did nothing right, honestly_, he thought grumpily. He couldn't exactly blame the young country for getting the wrong brand, seeing as he couldn't read or speak Russian, and even if he could do either Canada had no idea what vodka he was looking for… Ivan blamed him anyway.

The peppy blonde would be much more useful if he simply kept his mouth shut and cooked Ivan all varieties of Russian cuisine. He was always a bit surprised at the skill Matthew showed in the kitchen. No matter what kind of food he requested, the boy made it with outstanding quality, even when he had to consult a cookbook for the recipe.

"Russia?"

Violet eyes glanced up to see Matthew looking at him a little worriedly. Was he zoning out? Yes, and now Canada was going to go all soft because he was so helplessly sick he couldn't keep up with whatever was going on in front of him. "What?" He asked, the word coming out in a growl.

"Are you feeling alright?"

That _damnable_ hand reached over to check his temperature and Ivan wanted nothing more than to chop it off so the boy could no longer touch him. But they had come to some sort of agreement (although, he wouldn't hesitate to call all truces off if the blonde angered him too much) and his sister was still in the room. Katyusha somehow gotten it into her pretty little head that Ivan and Matthew were enjoying their time together.

Seriously, he loved his older sister (though he never said that word aloud), and he would do anything to protect her. They were very close as far as adoptive siblings go and although he might be younger than her, he usually felt like the elder. So really, he cared about her very much, more than he cared for anybody else… but sometimes she was simply so naïve and trusting. So happy and optimistic- it annoyed him at times, even if he didn't show it.

It annoyed him now. She just sat there, making herself comfortable on the couch like she did so many times before when she _lived_ there, looking back and forth between Canada and him with a giddy expression bordering on ditsy. Did she really see them getting along so well? The Canadian sat as far away from him as possible on the small three seat sofa, he avoided Russia's eyes, didn't try to ultimately involve him in any conversation, and shifted uncomfortably every time Ivan so much as looked at him for too long.

Russia himself remained just as cruel and heartless when dealing with the blonde as he did before; still glared, still insulted, still insinuated threats. Surely she noticed all that?

However when Canada's arm crossed the carefully maintained distance between the two in order to check his forehead, Ukraine's eyes got brighter and her smile wider, like they just proclaimed an act of eternal friendship towards each other. Ivan's eyes narrowed and he turned with even more viciousness than was necessary to snarl at Matthew, "Не трогай меня, свинья."

His hand came up to fling the other's away from his face, snatching the outstretched fingers and twisting them in a motion he'd copied many times before, satisfied when he heard a snap. Matthew yelped in pain, withdrawing quickly as soon as his hand was free.

The pain in the boy's eyes pleased him, and that soft whimper sent thrills down his spine. It had been far too long since he'd heard those noises, seen that look, smelt the fear. In a way, doing such actions that ultimately caused pain to others soothed him. It was a type of release; a coping mechanism, if one wanted to get technical.

Feelings rushed through his body like an addictive drug that he had gone far too long without. The instant gratification that came to him from breaking something that was so easily taken. The glee that came with making someone afraid of him because he _liked_ it when everyone skirted around him like he was a ticking time bomb. He wanted people to acknowledge how strong he was, he wanted them to realize that messing with him was not something one should do unless they were suicidal masochists.

But then, funny thing, really… he looked around at the aftermath and felt a little embarrassed to have given in to those urges so easily.

He stood, half empty bottle of vodka in hand and swayed to the right momentarily, but straightened with determination soon after. He gave a short look to his sister; she was no longer smiling but looking at Matthew, speaking to him frantically, like the boy had been shot and was taking his last breath.

Canada was handling things quite well, much to Ivan's surprise. After the initial pain and shock, the boy started smiling in reassurance, saying it was nothing and that it didn't hurt, just took him off guard. It was a lie, Russia could tell. He held his injured hand close to his body, making excuses to not show Ukraine the crooked fingers Ivan had just broken without much thought.

Katyusha even started to cry, small tears gathering in her eyes as she sympathized with Canada and turned around, yelling something about getting a first aid kit as she ran from the room. Russia had to admit, he felt a little regret in acting out so irrationally. He'd only wanted to show Ukraine that the two were not _close_, even if he was agreeing to show Matthew around his land. He never wanted her to cry, although, with her kind heart, he should have expected it.

Now he felt bad, something he didn't like. The way the emotion curled up in his chest like some kind of disease and slowly started to rot. He knew the blonde nation was only trying to help, and really, the boy should've realized that being around Russia would eventually lead to pain. Matthew could do everything as he was told and Ivan would still find some way to hurt him because Russia fully acknowledged his sadistic personality and made absolutely no move to restrain it.

He was more worried about his sister. It was his fault she was upset now, and he didn't like the thought of those tears running down her beautiful face, ruining her happy image, just because he couldn't help but hurt a pitiful nation insisting on nosing around in other's business.

"W-Why did you do that?" Canada asked as soon as she was gone; his voice merely a whisper, body visibly trembling. The three fingers, from his middle to his pinky on his right hand throbbed something fierce. He pulled his hand away from the safety of his body to look at them. They looked unnaturally bent to the right and he could tell they were starting to swell. "What did I d-do to deserve that?"

Russia stood there, his stance becoming more awkward with every second, "Don't act like we're such intimately close friends."

That was lame, they both knew it, and Matthew stared at him with a bewildered expression, "When did I give you that impression? I may have won the game and earned an ally and friend, but I haven't done anything to suggest we are close."

"My sister thinks that though."

"So you break my fingers so she'll think otherwise?" Obviously… but the way Matthew said it made Ivan agree even more; it had been a bad decision all the way around. Oh well, it wasn't like he hadn't been in that position before. Russia had always been a 'torture first, think of the consequences later' kind of man, and Matthew's pain was of little consequence to him. It was just a couple of broken fingers; nothing to a human, and definitely nothing to a nation. "You have warped logic," He stated, as if that was a new observation for him. "Fix them."

Violet eyes look to the man with a blank face. "Fix your fingers?"

"Yes, I can't set my own broken bones. Take responsibility and fix them."

In a rare show of irritation, Ivan rolled his eyes and set his bottle of alcohol down on the coffee table in front of the couch. He sat on the sofa and pulled the outstretched hand closer to him in a rough yank, ignoring Canada's protest of 'don't break anything else!'

Russia was not necessarily careful or sympathetic, but he did do things quickly as his own way of apologizing for his actions. He took each finger separately, starting with the pinky, jerking the digit in a swift motion to set the bone in place. It was a practiced move, not nearly as used as the one he performed to cause the pain, but he knew what he was doing nonetheless. Matthew winced and gasped at every movement. The cracks coming from his hand were making him feel a little ill and his eyes were glazed over in unshed tears.

"Are you going to cry, малыш?"

Through gritted teeth, Matthew struggled to contain his whimpers as Ivan took hold of the second finger, "W-what did you call m-me?"

"A child." Ivan stated, amused. He didn't even look at the hand he held as he set the boy's ring finger, instead he stared at the blonde's face. It was amusing that the boy was already crying when these types of injuries were virtually nothing. _He's never been tortured before,_ Ivan realized, though he wasn't necessarily shocked. As Canada was still young, there would eventually come a time that Matthew was taken and destroyed. Like all of the older countries that had been around centuries upon centuries before the New World was even found, the young Americas would lose their innocence somehow.

"You… you," Matthew struggled with a comeback. Another crack filled the air, and Matthew bent over from the pain. Setting the bones hurt worse than the actual breakage! "Fils de salop!"

Ivan tilted his head curiously, "What does that mean?"

"Nothing." Matthew lied, panting from the excursion. _One more finger,_ He told himself, hoping that this would end soon.

"I have found something interesting about you, Matvey." Ivan said in a casual tone, completely indifferent to what he was doing to Matthew's hand as he took the middle finger in a tight hold. The broken bones grinding together underneath the skin and Canada gasped at the sharp pains, stubbornly keeping his tears from falling; knowing that if he succeeded he would win this game Ivan had decided to play.

The Russian was starting to wear him out with all this stress; harsh demands, insults, threatening auras, and physical pain. It all seemed to have a goal of some kind. Russia either wanted him to get angry and yell at him, or breakdown and cry for his amusement. He constantly pushed and pulled at his emotions like a stringed puppet, tightening the cords until Matthew snapped at the end of his wits. So far, the Russian had done a great job of it too. The conversation in the kitchen was only one instance in which Canada had lost to this cruel game. He did not intend to lose again at whatever game this was. If Matthew was forced to play, he was determined to win. "What's that?"

"You only seem to use profanity when you speak French."

"Habit I su-" _Crack._ "Bâtard!"

"See?" Ivan's smile was wide, like he'd just proved to everyone that some great theory of his was true and nobody should say anything different. Or else.

Matthew didn't shed a tear, though his eyes were stinging with the urge to just let them roll down his cheeks, because his entire hand throbbed with every heartbeat and every movement sent his nerves screaming in agony. "I strongly… dislike you at the moment."

If anything, Ivan's creepy smile got larger and Matthew felt like he had won nothing at all.

"Here, Matvey." Ukraine's voice interrupted them, and she still looked frantic as she set the first aid kit on the sofa in between them.

"Thank you, сестра," Ivan said. "I will take care of this."

Katyusha still looked worried as she sat on the two seat couch on the other side of the coffee table, watching everything with a keen and fearful eye. Canada reassured her once again that everything was alright and it was just an 'accident.'

Ivan was happy to agree and let the whole thing pass over, thankful that Matthew was willing to do the same. There was very little talk as everyone stared at Ivan's work; a few plastic sticks were used as splints of sorts and a clean, white gauze was wrapped tightly around the fingers to keep them from moving. When finished, Russia left the room for a few moments, coming back with an ice pack, ordering Matthew to keep it on the hand for a while.

"Well," Canada decided to break the silence. "Now that that's over, what would you like to eat for lunch?"

"Botvinia." Ivan said instantly, and if the past requests were anything to go by it was going to be a difficult recipe in which Matthew would slave over the stove to make.

The Canadian rolled his eyes, but wasn't really irritated. He kind of enjoyed learning new recipes and trying new foods. "I'll just go figure out what that _is_."

Ukraine stood from her seat in a hurry, a tentative smile back on her face, "I'll help, Matvey!"

…oOo…

The rest of the day went on uneventfully. Mathew and Ivan mutely decided to leave things alone for now and tried to get along. Katyusha went back to being her happy self as she helped in the kitchen. Her bubbly disposition was contagious and the happenings regarding his hand were nearly forgotten, especially after the pain waned and the topic of conversation drew him in.

He was somewhat surprised to find that Katyusha was very… family oriented. She rattled off all kinds of stories about her relatives; Russia (much to Ivan's distaste, though he didn't say anything), Belarus (it was strange the way Ivan flinched every time that name was mentioned, but Matthew didn't comment, thinking it was a family matter and none of his business), and herself.

There were stories of when they were young, before the USSR and before the revolution. To times when Canada had not even been discovered yet. Ukraine told him about the meetings with Rome and Germania, stories about brave warriors and great battles that occurred so long ago that history had forgotten, but not nations; people like them remembered every single moment of their past, unlike the humans they represented.

Matthew listened with rapture; like a child being told a bedtime story. He was fascinated by everything, and a little saddened by how much he had in comparison. Canada's history was so very _short_, and uneventful due to his neutrality. He realized just how young he was, arguably one of the youngest until recent years.

Even though the name _Russia_ didn't date back so far and had been changed a few times, the country himself lived for much, much longer. All the wars, contributions, activities, leaders… for centuries it had built up and history was created every second.

Canada was a little overwhelmed. _Being around for so long, growing up with China and Korea as your neighbors, and dealing with a prehistoric slave kingdom… no wonder the guy's so messed up._ Russia was full of corruption in the past, and that was not a discriminatory opinion. Matthew was a little ashamed to admit that he had shared Alfred's hatred of communists in the past, though he didn't necessarily act on the feelings. But that was over and done with. Canada had long since realized that a Capitalist government was not the only successful system to go by and unlike his brother, Matthew had started to correct the mistakes he'd made. Particularly by dealing with Cuba, a nation he had steadily gotten closer to, although their relationship couldn't exactly be called a friendship… he still acquired bruises after every meeting.

So no, when he said that Russia's past was… cruel and corrupt, he based that statement on fact. All one had to do was buy a History textbook and get to reading. One could spend months straight going over every single detail, the end result would be the same. There were definite consequences to having such a past, and Matthew knew that no amount of help would _fix_ Ivan; he would be stupid to even try. But the man had asked for help and Canada could not ignore that. Even if the Russian was difficult to deal with and he was in no way a qualified psychologist (but what kind of psychologist would be qualified to handle _this_?), the blonde couldn't give up.

He listened to Katyusha, asking questions here and there, staying to the light stuff (or what little there was): great achievements or inventions of Russia, cultural similarities, traditions. He learned all he could, because he knew that Ivan would never confide in him like this, not even if they _were_ close.

Ukraine was sharper than she looked and acted though, because sometime during their cooking duties she leaned in close, shoulders touching as she whispered in a serious tone, all pretenses of foreplay gone. "Whatever you're doing, Matvey, I hope it works. Don't let my brother down."

A hand wrapped around his left wrist in a soothing gesture and Matthew looked down, hiding his surprise rather well. Katyusha's hands were not soft, even though they looked smooth and beautiful. They were calloused by her work in the fields, her long fingers containing certain strength that was not becoming of her appearance.

The hand slipped away as quickly as it had come and Ukraine sashayed back to the other counter with a jar of spices in hand, humming a tune under her breath. Canada risked a glance her way, then looked meekly across the bar into the living room where Russia still sat, watching the news. It was strange to see such a big man lazing about on the couch. Matthew got the impression that Ivan was a rather active person. So it was either the illness of his body or the alcohol in his system that kept him there.

Canada would bet the latter…

Focusing on the meal once again the blond let out a small sigh, not wanting the others to hear. He was way in over his head. If he survived this, he promised to never take the safety of his home for granted ever again, he could stay invisible for all he cared.

…Thank You…

Woo! Awesome, I'm glad I got that out of the way. Recently, I got this PC game called The Sims 3 (and the expansion packs) … I've become obsessed with it. For anybody who doesn't know what that is: the object of the game is to create people and houses, and then play out their lives. They go to work and school, meet other people, fall in love, and have babies… everything. It's really cool.

Anyway I feel like such a nerd for making an Ivan and Matthew. They have traits to pick from that influence the way the characters act; Ivan's really Mean, Evil, Disciplined, and such. Matthew's a Bookworm, Loner, Friendly, and Good… I also made an Alfred (oh god I practically laughed until I choked because Ivan and Alfred didn't get along at ALL). So canon! XD

I also made an Arthur and Francis, they were in another household and I left them alone for a little while, when I came back, they hated each other and Francis was freaking _Married_ with two other women on the side… Go France, you're a slut everywhere. O.o

So yeah, I'm addicted.

Now, about the story, Ha ha. I've got a Beta! So hopefully the errors within will be filtered out and I intend on getting the earlier chapters looked over too at some point, cause I know there are some there. I'm going to try and keep a schedule! Once things become more stable I will tell you when to expect updates.

Please continue with all your wonderful reviews! I'm passed 100! That's awesome, I've never had that many before. So how about 180? I'm aiming higher this time because you guys blow my goals away like nothing. XD

Thank you for reading!

_Translations:_

Брат (Russian): Brother

Сестра (Russian): Sister

Не трогай меня, свинья (Russian): Don't touch me, swine

малыш (Russian): Child

Fils de salop (French): Son of a bitch

Bâtard (French): Bastard

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Hetalia, or any other copyrighted subjects I may have unwittingly included. I make no money from this.


	8. Враг: Enemy

Chapter 8: Враг: Enemy

"You are a drunk."

Russia blinked, looking around himself from his place on the couch, seeing Canada and his sister still in the kitchen, talking amiably and seemingly _enjoying_ their work as cooks. Nobody else seemed to be in the vicinity… he took a wary glance at the bottle of vodka in his lap. Perhaps little Matthew put something in it?

"You're rude too."

Pinpointing the direction of the voice, Ivan glanced to the left, pausing to take in the sight of a white polar bear sitting innocently on the floor by the sofa. "What?" Russia asked, his face blank.

"I do not like you."

"I do not care."

The bear tilted his head to the side, "You hurt him."

What was the animal going on about? Was he talking about Canada? "Da, he was being stupid."

"You're stupid."

"What do you know, you dirty animal?"

"I know you're stupid."

Russia narrowed his eyes… he was losing a verbal fight with a _bear_. Bears shouldn't even talk, especially not to Russia in that tone of voice. "I'll kill you. Your pelt will become a new rug. Now leave."

The furry animal acted like he didn't hear, crawling up on the couch and sitting beside the Russian, "I'm hungry."

"Then go ask your master for food, not me."

Like Ivan had done a moment before, the bear looked back to the two countries in the kitchen, debating on whether he should bother with getting up and walking _all the way over there_… And then, choice made, he yawned and fell down on the seat with gusto. Russia just looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"Kumajirou," Ukraine called with glee as she came into the living room, seeing the white polar bear curled up with such a cute face. She set the plate of food meant for Ivan on the coffee table in front of him before kneeling on the carpet to pet the coarse fur. "How have you been?"

"Hungry."

Katyusha made a cooing noise gathering the animal into her arms, "Let's go get you some food then!" Turning around to make her way back to the kitchen, Kumajirou looked back to Russia over the woman's shoulder, sticking his tongue out in a rather human-like expression.

Russia decided he did not like Kumajirou.

…oOo…

A wide yawn interrupted his concentration, his laptop blurring within his vision as he leaned back in the office chair. Ivan had long since left the two chatty nations in the living room, attempting to get some work done before it got too late. However, his headache refused to leave him and Matthew –may he be cursed to hell –decided to hide his vodka from him, saying one bottle was clearly enough. That irritable little boy had the nerve to keep him from his alcohol in his own home?

Needless to say, Ivan was very tempted to break more fingers. But then his _sister_ just had to agree with him! Katyusha would never have been so bold as to refuse him his vodka, but then silly little Canada comes around and suddenly she's got the will to deny _him_? She hadn't done that since she declared her independence from him!

Without fail, the remembrance of that night hit him hard and his shoulders sagged as if a great weight had settled on him.

_A crisp white envelope was held out to him, Ukraine's normally serene face clouded in strife. Russia looked at her worriedly, wondering what could be wrong with his sweet sister that offered him so many smiles. He took the offered paper with a little confusion. "What is this?"_

"_My wish for independence," She stated with a surprisingly even voice. Russia snapped his eyes back to her face, searching the dark blue eyes for traces of a joke. There were no signs of jest, and the innocent envelope in his hands suddenly burned his fingers. He set the paper down on the desk quickly, as if it contained a disease. "I love you brother," She continued, her voice was quiet, but her eyes were hard and __–__Oh god, she was serious. "But I want to be my own country."_

_Russia swallowed, his eyes locking with Ukraine's. There was a knot in his throat that kept him from speaking and his chest constricted, making it difficult to breathe. His Baltic States had steadily left him over the decade, and it was a surprise when Belarus suddenly wanted to be on her own, but this… Ukraine was never supposed to leave him, she was the only one left! "Sister, you can't-"_

"_I will fight if I have to," Her voice wavered at the end and her eyes softened, glistening with tears. "Please don't make me."_

_Trembling, even though he tried to hide it, Russia stepped forward. "Why do you want to leave me? I know it looks bad now, but the Soviet Union will come back and I'll grow stronger. I will be strong and I will protect you __–__you will have no protection out there!" He had to make her see…_

"_No. I must go… Please. Please don't make this hard." Her voice was full of emotion but she did not cry, with one last pleading look to the large man in front of her, she turned to the door, stepping out of the study and walking to the entrance of the house. Her suitcase was waiting by the door, ready to go, and she picked it up._

_Russia wasted but a few seconds, staring where she once stood, wondering how everything went wrong. Ukraine couldn't leave him, she was precious to him, she would be vulnerable out there on her own, her country was poor, her government would never make it __–__he would be alone again!_

"_Sister! Wait," He sprung into action, practically sprinting out of his library and to the open door. There was a blizzard outside, but the harsh bite of General Winter didn't stop him though as he rushed out the door. Ukraine had put her luggage in the trunk of a small jeep that was already running, warming the inside and expelling a dark cloud of fume into the air from the exhaust. She continued on as if she didn__'__t hear him, shutting the hatch to the trunk and climbing into the driver's seat._

"_Please, sister," He yelled over the fierce wind, standing next to the window, trying to talk to her through the glass. "Tell me what you need -what your people need __–__I'll give you whatever you want! Just stay!"_

_Her eyes looked so sad as she stared at him, her hands on the steering wheel. Her lips moved and though he couldn't hear her words, he could understand the movements of her mouth, "I'm sorry." And with shaky determination she put the jeep into gear, and pressed the acceleration. The tires slipped on the ice a bit before gaining traction, and Russia watched as she pulled away from the house they had made into a home._

"_Please," He called, though he knew she couldn't hear him. "Don't leave!" But she didn't stop. She continued until the grey vehicle turned out of sight, and Russia collapsed into the snow. The wind blew, and the frost started to cover his hair and shoulders, melting on his skin and dampening his clothes. He was alone._

And he still was.

That had been twenty years ago and it still hurt every time he thought about her independence. He had wondered what had gone wrong, why he wasn't enough to keep her there, why everyone had left him. They used to be so close; they used to be a family. Now they only got together to talk business, it was becoming something rare when they even acted as if they were related. Sure, they still made an effort to be close whenever they did meet, and they still called each other brother and sister… but it was only by title or formality. Russia doubted Ukraine saw him as anything but a past caretaker.

The vice around his chest tightened and Russia struggled in order to breathe normally. It hurt to watch oneself fall, to lose everything and he wondered, not for the first time, if Germania and Rome had felt the same. Little by little their territories were taken by others or left of their own accord, and their once strong bodies grew weaker until finally they were confined to their beds; sick, weak and defenseless. Nobody cared enough to keep them alive, they just took what was left, watching them die.

The door opened slowly, and Canada's golden head peeked into the room. He was hesitant to enter, but the look on Ivan's face worried him and it had been a while since he had checked the man's temperature. "Rus-" His sentence cut off with a gasp and he jerked his right foot up off the floor like it had been burned. Canada gently took his foot in his hand, looking at the sole of his foot to see a glistening piece of glass stuck in the tender skin. With trembling fingers he took it out. It was the size of his fingernail, the edges jagged and sharp, enough to draw blood, but the cut wasn't deep.

Matthew looked to the ground warily, eyes widening when he saw the millions of glass shards spread across the library's cherry wood floor. The glass paper weight Russia had thrown yesterday had not been cleaned up and Ivan simply walked around the mess when coming to and from the library. "What happened here?"

Ivan did not answer him, still leaning back in his chair, violet eyes half-lidded as he watched Canada fuss about something being left unattended to. "Canada," He called, and Matthew immediately quieted, searching his face. "What do you think happens when we die?"

Confusion settled on his face first, and the bright mauve eyes blinked in thought before softening into an almost depressed look. His voice was nothing but a whisper, and though Ivan could hardly hear, he was attentive because he honestly wanted to know what the other thought. Heaven and Hell were for humans, he couldn't imagine that personified nations would go there and if, by some chance they did, then none of them would be admitted into Heaven with the amount of sins they were accountable for.

"I think you… disappear," Ivan didn't understand, but Canada explained without the need to be questioned. "Sometimes, when people forget about me or think my words are not worthy enough to listen to, I turn sort of transparent, like I'm invisible. And I know _I_ exist, because I still feel my people, my government, and my economy. I still feel the fields in my hair, the valleys and mountains on my skin, the rivers in my veins… but I also feel like all that does not matter. When I am invisible, nobody can see or hear me; they run straight into me and don't bother to realize. To them, there is no Canada."

Russia could see the boy's eyes shine and Ivan was a little annoyed that stating such an opinion could make the child cry, but he said nothing, merely turning to the laptop screen, staring at the half finished document he had been in the process of typing. "So you think the empires of Rome and Germania are still alive just… invisible?"

"Possibly. Or maybe one day you disappear for real, instead of just remaining invisible. Just… poof." The boy made a motion with his hands, simulating an explosion of some kind, smiling a little at his own humor.

"If that is the case then how is Prussia still here?"

The smile was wiped off his face and Matthew's gaze wandered around the room as he answered, "It takes time to be forgotten; Germany may have taken over what used to be Prussia, but Gilbert is still a representative of the East. He still has a purpose, and even though his nation was dissolved people still recognize and acknowledge him."

A thin eyebrow rose in curiosity at the boy's fervor in defending Prussia's existence, he even went so far as to be on a first name basis with the nation? Were they close? He filed that information away for later.

It made sense in a way, and Russia looked down at his hand, to be sure that there was color and to assure himself of his strength. He was still one of the strongest. He may have lost many and his idea of a perfect world where all were a part of him may have failed, but he was still the largest. He blinked as a certain fact entered his mind.

Canada… was the second largest country.

He knew that, but the implications behind it didn't become clear until now. Looking back to the emotional nation still standing awkwardly near the door, Ivan assessed the boy's body; the frame was small, hidden behind a bulky red hoodie. His face was heart shaped and feminine. The eyes shined with innocence and thin, slightly chapped lips quirked up in a soft smile. It was a body that would not be ideal in a brawl, eyes that did not hold harsh reality, hands that showed no hard labor. Weak… this boy was second to him? It was ridiculous -laughable.

Yet the child surely held strength, he was able to hit quite hard during their hockey match, even Russia had trouble regaining his breath from a few tackles, although he'd blame that on his sick body. The kid was smart too, unnoticeably witty, able to twist things around into his favor without being rude or obnoxious about it. His tricks would have worked if it wasn't for Russia's own intellect in these kinds of affairs.

_The boy would be a perfect spy_, he mused and the more Russia thought about that, the more he honestly agreed. Canada was practically invisible, he was kind (Russia disliked that, but it was a trait that would certainly serve well in that field of work), and he had a ferociousness about him if angered.

Russia had yet to see how much power the nation had, but he'd heard stories from Germany of just how frightening Canada could be. He didn't know or care who this _Canada_ was back then, it was of no interest to him at the time, but looking to the country that had struck fear into Nazi Germany, Russia couldn't see how this wimp in front of him could be described as _frightening_.

It intrigued him. Russia would confidently say that Germany was a very strong country, especially in WWII – he had the honor of fighting him, so Ivan would know. But to think that Germany had been afraid of Canada came as a bit of a shock. Either the Nazi was delusional about who he should be cautious of or Canada's soft and kind exterior was false.

Russia would have fun finding out; they had a whole month together and Ivan was determined to discover what made Matthew Williams tick.

"May I ask what brought this up," Matthew asked and Ivan was brought out of his wicked thoughts and back to the original topic.

Russia shifted in his office chair, scooting closer to the desk in order to continue his business, "I was just thinking." His hands started typing at his laptop as he tried to get his mind to focus on work.

"About?" Matthew pried.

"Nothing that concerns you."

"But I'm your psychologist, eh? You should tell me." Canada found that it was much easier to speak when Ivan was pretending to ignore him, as he was now. The violet purple eyes were locked on the computer screen and his body language suggested that Canada should very well leave now.

Strange, it usually bothered Matthew when he went ignored or pretended to be unseen. But when dealing with the unpredictable Ivan, it was much more comfortable this way. "It's not good to hold things in. Those repressed feelings feed off of each other, breed and fester. It rots you from the inside out and your soul slowly dies."

Ivan paused in his typing, glancing up at the nation with an eyebrow rising as if to say 'what the hell are you going on about?'

Matthew felt his cheeks heat up and knew he was blushing from embarrassment but he nodded wisely all the same, "Seen it happen, very tragic. You think you're fine but then one day, far into the future, you'll be one of those old men at the back of a bar drinking yourself drunk and mumbling to yourself."

Ivan stared at him for a second, "I do that now."

"Then it's worse than I feared," And Matthew couldn't help it; the conversation, the look Russia was giving him (still blank but there was a glint of amusement) and the fact that this was the first civil discussion they've had all week; Canada laughed. His injured hand came up to stifle his giggles and he bent over slightly. "Do you have any more symptoms I should know about?"

Ivan decided to humor him, "I do not know the symptoms of one's soul dying, but I can remove my heart, da. I do not believe that is normal for others."

Matthew's giggles slowed and then came to a stop as he looked at Ivan with growing confusion. "Are you being serious?"

"Da," Russia decided to simply show the nation (because it would be hard to convince him that it was the truth otherwise). He reached under his long sleeved white shirt (he still wore his scarf but the coat was absent at the moment), a wet squelching noise was heard before he it withdrew to show Canada.

Matthew stared for a long time, his face going through all kinds of emotions; shock, disgust, disbelief, confusion, and then wonder. From his stand point, Canada could clearly see that the muscle was beating, as if it were still connected to the veins and arteries, as if it still pumped blood. "Mon… Dieu," He whispered, and his feet shuffled closer, he was careful not to step on any glass but his eyes stayed focused in on the red and grey mass within Russia's hand.

Once he was close enough to see the organ up close he was even more amazed, "How is this possible?"

Russia shrugged, "One day it fell out."

Matthew looked up in skepticism, his soft voice dry with humor, "It just… fell out?"

"Da."

Canada's gaze turned back to the bloody muscle, "Can I touch it?"

Russia narrowed his eyes, looking as if he would object. In truth, he never had someone touch his heart before. That kind of situation simply never came about, but glancing at the muscle in his hand and the shy boy in front of him he wondered what harm it would do. Canada looked quite fascinated; an expression Russia had not seen one show upon the grotesque discovery before.

Slowly nodding his head, violet eyes watched the blond carefully as he smiled, happy at receiving permission and yet tentative to actually step forward. Matthew shifted awkwardly, bringing his left hand up hesitantly, he paused along the way for a moment before continuing on until the tip of his pointer finger met warm flesh. Very slowly, the pad of his finger trailed down its side, feeling the smooth, damp surface and squeaking in surprise when Ivan suddenly jerked his hand away.

"I'm sorry," The blond apologized frantically. "Did that hurt?"

"Нет," Russia said. "Just felt strange."

Ivan didn't know what to expect, but the feeling of someone running their finger across one of his most precious organs _tickled_ him. How could he explain it? His heart which was supposed to be inside of his body, stood exposed to the air and elements. How was he to describe the feeling of his heart being cold as a chill swept the room, or the caress of another's flesh? It felt _strange_ and the large nation couldn't help but assess his beating organ for any differences, of which there were none.

"Have you seen _Pirates of the Caribbean_," Matthew suddenly asked. Ivan glanced up in confusion. "It's one of Alfred's so maybe you haven't. But one of the characters, Davey Jones, had his heart taken from his body and locked away in a chest. It was then buried in a place only he knew of. Whoever owned his heart controlled _him_, and so also controlled the seas. So everyone went to find this heart of his." A smile crossed Matthew's face.

Russia blinked. "So whoever owns my heart will control Russia?"

"N-no, I'm just saying that's what it was like in the movie," Matthew wished he hadn't said anything, because Ivan looked at him suspiciously. "Oh, the movie was American made, that explains everything, eh? Anyway, this is so cool," He motioned to the beating heart. "A little gory, but it's still pretty amazing."

Giving a small nod Russia brought his hand back under his shirt, storing the organ back into its natural place. "So," Matthew wondered. "You just… put it back in? Like, you don't have a big gaping hole or anything, do you?"

"Нет."

"Oh." Matthew nodded a little to himself. After all, he had already seen Russia without his clothes and while he was determined not to look out of decency at the time, he would have thought he'd notice if there was a bloody passageway to his inner organs. Silence remained and Ivan eventually got back to work after wiping his hand of the blood. "Right," Matthew felt awkward. "Are you running a fever still?"

"I have a headache, but no fever."

"Okay, good. Ukraine suggested Beef Stroganoff for dinner, is that okay?" Ivan merely hummed, his hands flying across the Cyrillic marked keyboard. Canada picked his way across the dangerous floor towards the door. He'd come back and clean this mess when he returned. Pausing in the doorway and glancing back to the nation at his desk. Canada felt really good about their conversation. It was enlightening and Matthew would be optimistic enough to say they connected on a new level; slightly above hostile enemy and moving up. Their relationship kept improving, regardless of the mishap with his fingers (which still hurt quite a bit). Perhaps they could survive this month together.

Ivan suddenly looked at him, violet gaze sharp. "Leave now."

Despite the intimidating glare being sent his way (which made his stomach do flips in fear), Matthew sent a small smile back, "Yes sir," If it wasn't such a submissive action, Matthew would have snapped a salute to further exaggerate the mock superiority he was displaying. "I just wanted to say thank you."

"For breaking your fingers?" He asked, although his eyes went back to the screen and he continued to type. "Da, Comrade Matvey, anytime."

Canada held back the urge to roll his eyes, "No, for being a little less difficult. Vous n'êtes pas si mauvaise parfois."

Ivan glared. He didn't appreciate words being thrown at him when he didn't know the meaning but Matthew ran out the door before he could say anything.

…oOo…

Ivan, Matthew, and Katyusha sat in the stiff elegantly carved chairs surrounding the food bearing table (Ukraine insisted that they eat supper in the dining room, and not at the countertops). Ivan, naturally, took the head of the table, and Matthew and Katyusha sat at either side. Needless to say, it seemed kind of awkward for everyone. No doubt Russia and Ukraine were thinking about the past when they sat in this very place, during darker and lighter times. Matthew felt ostracized; like he didn't belong there.

"This is very good, сестра," Surprisingly, it was Ivan to break the silence and Matthew couldn't be more thankful.

"Thank you, but Matvey helped out a lot. He is a very good cook."

"Da, I noticed that as well."

Matthew smiled bashfully at both countries for their praise, looking down at his food to avoid the others' eyes. He couldn't help but sigh a bit in thought. He never had dinners like this. His dining room back home was so rarely used. Alfred was the only one to come over and there wasn't much point in doing things so formally for his brother (who wouldn't appreciate it anyway). If Arthur ever came over, which was not often at all, the Englishman much preferred the sitting room where he could drink tea and read books in peace.

Francis enjoyed the fancy dinners of course, he was probably the only one of his so-called family that did, but it would simply be too strange for them to sit at the table alone. His 'papa' was too… flirtatious for that and would probably get the wrong idea (and Canada didn't want to give him an active reason to pursue him anyway).

Sucking up his depressive thoughts, Matthew shoved them to the back of his mind. If this was the closest he would have to a 'family dinner' then he would enjoy it, even if the company was rather dull. He could handle Russia's infuriating harassment for the short time it took to eat – maybe… possibly.

Well, he would certainly try and act civil tonight, and hopefully things would go as smoothly as they had in the man's office. Matthew turned to try and start a conversation about Russia's weather for tomorrow (if they were to go out, it would be better to go prepared), but a familiar voice interrupted him. "Hungry."

Canada looked down beside him where Kumajirou stood on his back legs, his head almost reaching the top of the table. His little black nose twitched as he took in all the scents, black eyes wide and lustful of the food on the table. "Kumasa, you already ate, besides this stuff isn't good for you."

The bear looked disgruntled at the refusal. He wanted that food and if this person wasn't going to give it to him, he'd go to the next. Wandering under the table, he traveled to the large set of feet next to the others. Brown leather boots covered the legs and Kumajirou wondered how good that material would taste in his mouth before he moved next to the man.

"Hey," The animal whispered, and curious, childlike violet eyes looked down at him. "Feed me."

Blinking, the human form in front of him swept his arm across the table, snatching up a few things. A couple seconds later and a deep bowl usually meant for rice was set down in front of the bear. But it did not hold any food, just a clear liquid that smelt funny.

Kumajirou looked from the offered porcelain to the man who gave it. His voice was still a sneaky whisper, "This is not food."

"Нет," The man whispered back, giggling a little. "It is better."

The bear didn't think so, but with a hesitant 'whatever,' he flicked his tongue out and dipped it in the bowl. Jerking back at the strong, instantaneous taste, he looked at the drink with wary eyes before going back for more.

Russia smiled wickedly.

Later, as Matthew fussed over Kumajirou's supposedly sick body, (he stumbled nearly three times on the way to bed) Ivan passed by the scene with light hearted steps. "Seems like neither of you can handle alcohol well, da?"

Russia was almost to the end of the hallway before a particularly loud shriek of horror reached his ears,

"You gave him _vodka?_"

…Thank you!...

Ok, so I have a schedule I'm going to try and keep up; updates will be posted in two week waiting periods, depending on the length of the chapter and how busy I am. But two weeks is a nice summary and leaves room for emergencies. Deal? :)

Also, everyone listen up! My story is now being translated in Chinese (Cantonese) by serene528moon and can be found here:

Http: / www. loveandpeace. us/ ? tid= 25896 (remove spaces)

Am I the only one who thinks that's freakin' _awesome_? Thank you Serene! You rock!

Cha, I didn't reach my goal of 180 reviews (tear), but that's not something that will stop me. I started this story without knowing how popular it would be and I do this for the sheer enjoyment of writing. But you guys certainly help, and I want to thank all of you for all your comments and opinions they definitely keep me happy.

Another thing; while I have taken a lot of time in researching historical events about Russia and Canada in order to keep things current and in character (because they are _countries_, their characters are defined by their pasts and the people they represent)… I don't want to offend anyone who may be from these countries. They are human in appearance and thought, they have a mind of their own, separate from the nation they are, _so_ if something doesn't sit well with what the "social norms" of these nationalities are, don't be mad. It is just a story and I don't intend to go all patriotic.

Are you guys happy with the length of these chapters or should I go for longer? It can be done.

Review shout-out:

Pomona: The link you sent me was broken, but I thank you tremendously for whatever was supposed to be on the other end. Ha ha.

_Translations:_

Vous n'êtes pas si mauvaise parfois (French): You're not so bad sometimes

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Hetalia, Countries, McDonalds (you people really are sue-happy), or anything else that is copyrighted within this story. I make no money from this!

Review please! I want 180! D:


	9. Malheureux: Unhappy

Chapter 9: Malheureux: Unhappy

Russia slept in a little bit the next morning, waking at around seven thirty and taking a quick shower. The scalding hot water would have burned most people, but for him it was just enough to chase away the chill he felt along his left side where General Winter had touched him over the course of the night.

Siberia was probably suffering worse than usual this season.

Ukraine must have still been sleeping, but Canada was awake and cooking a large breakfast. Ambling over to the stove, Ivan couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face as Matthew jumped in surprise upon seeing him. The Russian swiped a piece of crispy bacon off of a plate. "H-hey," The boy shouted (still a whisper) in protest. A glare was sent Ivan's way, "Can't you wait?"

"Da, I could," He answered noncommittally. "But I won't." He reached for more and Matthew huffed, pushing on the large man's shoulder in an attempt to keep him away from the food.

"Stop it," He commanded. "I'll have to cook more."

Russia wasn't particularly trying to fight against the boy, but the strength behind the small hands at his side was at least firm. "Ah, you seem to be quite, what is the word… grouchy this morning. Da?"

Another glare, harsher than before, "That's your fault, Kumaji got sick in the middle of the night and has a hangover this morning, all because you gave him vodka. Animals are not supposed to have alcohol, especially not that much!"

"He will be-"

"Fine! Yes, he will be fine, but he's not right now, is he? No more vodka! If you can't use alcohol responsibly, don't drink it at all!" His voice grew louder with every word and by the end of his sentence, it was of yelling quality and Russia blinked in surprise. The boy was showing such anger without any provocation from him and he was much more threatening than he had been at any time before. "One more offense like that and I swear I will make sure you don't get a _sip_ of your precious vodka for the whole month that I'm here, comprendre?"

Ivan stared at him unbelievably. _This boy just…_ His eyes narrowed and he stepped forward menacingly, "You want to try that again, мальчик?"

Matthew retreated accordingly, but his facial expression did not change and his words sounded harsh through gritted teeth, every word punctuated with a seriousness not many had seen on the boy's face before, "Leave Kumajirou alone."

From the height difference, Ivan was looming over the other darkly, looking down in a frightening fashion, "Or what?"

"I wouldn't ask you to find out." Matthew might have been angry but he had not lost his mind nor his survival instincts. Going up against Russia was not a good idea and he really didn't want to do it, but Kumajirou was lying in the bed upstairs, very sick, and it was because this man thought it would be funny to get the animal drunk. What an idiotic idea. "I mean this, Russia. Kumajirou is important to me, if he gets hurt because of your sadistic tendencies, all deals are off and I'm gone."

For a few seconds the situation remained tense, Matthew worried about how his threat would be taken and Ivan thought about these new stipulations. Finally, Russia's hand came up to grasp Matthew's chin, tilting it farther up in order to get direct contact between their similarly tinted eyes. "Da, I will leave Kumajirou alone… but do not threaten my vodka."

Matthew's eyes gleamed in displeasure, "Non, your precious vodka is the only thing that gets you to cooperate and as it was me who went out and got it, I should have rights to keep it."

"It was my money that bought it." Ivan reminded. His voice was deep. He was still slightly annoyed at being told to limit his actions to an animal that had no qualms about insulting _him_. But now he was being deprived of his alcohol like some petulant child going into time-out? Oh no, that just pissed him off.

Strangely, Canada gave a little smirk, not the least bit hindered by that answer, "I'm the one helping your economy. I'm giving money doubling up in the billions, enough to buy a lifetime of vodka for someone like you. So don't pull that shit over on me." Ivan's eyes grew darker, and the grip on his chin tightened; bruises would form soon. "All this trade of foods, fuel, oil, and energy… My people are coming over here to help with your construction and mining, they're doing work for _you_, and if I can't trust my best friend, a _bear_, in your hands then I want to know now, because this won't work otherwise."

Ivan's teeth grinded together. The boy's mind was sharp, and he had a point. All this help was doing wonders for his economy. His illness faded with every day and it had only just started so things were working remarkably fast. But Matthew wanted to hold it over his head? Wanted to tell him what to do like a… _puppy_ on a leash? No, just because he was supporting him did not mean he was indebted to him.

He needed this though. His people needed this. Sure, the economy was not in any way about to crash or anything; given a few years, everything would sort itself out. The whole "invisible hand" theory would be proven to exist and he'd be just as strong as he ever was. But Ivan did not want things to take that long. He wanted the relief now and Canada was willing to provide it if only he stayed his hand in a little bullying.

"Do not think you can tell me what to do simply because you've helped me, little one."

"I don't," Matthew's eyes softened to show sincerity. "I've been tolerant of your less-than-diplomatic actions so far. I just want you to keep it away from those I care about, particularly Kumada. Leave him alone." He repeated.

Russia tilted his head slightly, "You defend him so fiercely and yet you hardly remember his name."

A bright red covered the boy's cheeks, "I-I know, we never remember each other's names. But that doesn't mean we care about each other any less!"

Ivan found it ironic and if he had been one to openly show every emotion he felt, he would have been laughing at the moronic situation in front of him. Instead, he gave a small sigh, "Da, I will leave your pet alone." He would simply find other subjects of amusement. "Now give me my vodka."

Russia's hand fell away from Canada's chin and the boy brought his own up to message the tender skin, his eyes widening, "It's not even eight o'clock! You start drinking this early?"

"Of course, it makes me happy and after our conversation, little Matvey, I would like to be happy."

His nose scrunched up at the words and his injured hand pointed to the small cupboard above the refrigerator. "They're up there."

Ivan easily reached up into the cabinet (Matthew had needed to use a chair to hide them there but Russia didn't even have to stretch), coming back with two of the three bottles left. He leaned against the counter, opening one up and taking a large gulp as Matthew returned to the stove. The boy mumbled something in rapid French and Ivan smirked, recognizing a few words Matthew had used before; dear Canada had such a dirty mouth.

"Good morning Matvey, Ivan! I hope everyone slept well," Ukraine's voice was cheerful and the bounce in her step suggested she was more than excited this morning (a stark contrast to the other two). "Wow, Canada, the food smells so good."

Not wanting to ruin her mood, Matthew tried to push the gloom away and offer a smile. "Thank you. It's ready."

"Great! I'll go set the table!" She gathered some clean plates from the cabinet and ambled into the dining room, slightly out of slight.

Matthew sighed, and picked up the serving plates holding the food, prepared to follow her. He stopped next to Russia, giving him a meek glance. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. Let's just make the best of the day, eh? I really am interested in your culture and I don't want this misunderstanding to ruin anything."

Nodding in acceptance (the little bit of vodka he'd consumed was already soothing his ruffled nerves), Ivan took a plate from Matthew with his free hand and followed the blond out the kitchen and into the dining room his sister insisted on using. Truthfully, he didn't mind the arrangement; it was nice to eat with Katyusha like they were family again.

All together, it was a light hearted breakfast with Katyusha doing the most talking, Matthew joining in with a few words here and there and Ivan staying silent.

Sometime during the meal, Kumajirou showed up, walking slower than normal but otherwise looking a lot better. Matthew scooped him up gently to sit him on his lap, giving the animal a piece of bacon to indulge in the polar bear's pleas for food. Russia watched their interactions closely He was strangely entranced by the care Matthew showed to his pet; the soft eyes, the gentle caressing, the comforting words both in English and in French. He noticed the way the bear soothed his master with a lick on the hand or a snuggling of his furry body, the words "I'm fine," were heard more than once but the tone was always the same: soft and reassuring.

Ivan could see the bond that surrounded them and he'd never seen one like it before. Sure humans and their pets could grow quite close, but dogs and cats lived for only a decade or so; they didn't speak, and weren't nearly as helpful as this bear was to Canada. Kumajirou went everywhere with his master, slept with him, ate with him, traveled and worked with him; they were never seen without the other. They comforted and protected each other, and if what Matthew said was true and they'd been together even before his land was discovered then… well, that meant they'd been living together for _thousands_ of years.

"Ok," Matthew's voice was far lighter now after finally being convinced of Kumajirou's improved health. He picked up the empty plates, "Should we go after this?"

"Yes, Matvey," Katyusha gave a little cheer, getting up to join him in the kitchen as he cleaned the dishes.

Ivan was left to sit at the table, staring into his vodka bottle blankly, wondering why he was willing to let himself to be dragged around all day by the two blonds. A white figure caught his eye and Russia realized Kumajirou was settling in Matthew's vacated seat, the animal's stare unnerving him a bit. The black of the bear's eyes were large and intense. Russia gave a little glare in order to better hide how uncomfortable the atmosphere was. "What?" He asked.

"What's-his-name said I can't take anything you give me anymore."

Again, the animal couldn't remember his master's name, but apparently they just didn't care. Ivan rolled his eyes, "It was just a little alcohol. Your master is overreacting."

Kumajirou tilted his head, "He always overreacts when I get hurt. He beat hamburger boy up bad when he gave me chocolate."

It took a second to process who this _hamburger boy_ must have been. "America," He blinked. "Little Matvey beat him up? How?"

"He threw an ice skate at his head. There was a lot of blood. Boy still has a scar."

"Where?"

A white paw came up to touch a claw right before his left ear. Russia gave a wicked grin, "Interesting. Does Matvey get angry like that often?"

"No, he's usually very nice." The polar bear seemed to have lost interest in the conversation, for he wiggled down from the chair and padded across the room silently, probably going to find Matthew or Katyusha and beg for attention.

"Let's go, брат!" Katyusha called happily and Ivan sighed, forcing himself to stand and get properly dressed for the weather outside. With his tan coat, white scarf, and black leather gloves on, he waited by the door for the others. Matthew was the first to show, the tan coat from before with the fur trim was buttoned up snug, he wore no scarf but a white, wool turtle neck underneath kept his neck warm. Brown gloves adorned his hands and brown boots covered his feet, reaching to his knees much like Ivan's own. In his arms was Kumajirou, looking just as bored as Russia; obviously he would much rather be sleeping.

Katyusha bounced into view, still smoothing down her hair and putting on her boots. Her light blue coat fit her form well, though it seemed quite restricted at the chest, her abnormally large bust straining against the buttons. "Alright," She smiled, clearly excited, her white scarf similar to Ivan's trailed behind her as she ran to the door. "Let's go have some fun!"

The three piled into the Bentley, as it was the only vehicle with more than two seats. Matthew sat in the back, Kumajirou sprawling out on the seat next to him. Matthew would have fussed about a seatbelt but, was instead entranced by the shining black Ducati on the other side of the garage, again. Ukraine saw him staring when she turned in her seat to start a conversation, "Ah, motorcycle road-racing is a popular sport here too, little Ivan used to go to the track lots of times!"

Ivan nodded as he looked at his bikes. "Ducati 1198 R Corse, limited edition," He described, his voice and face was as blank as ever, but Matthew could see the way his violet eyes brightened with pride. He had full rights to brag, a Ducati was a superbike, one built for racing. The specifications this motorcycle came with were insane. Those eyes were suddenly trained on him, "Do you know about racing?"

"Yes. I have a Kawasaki Concours back home. I love it, but I've always wanted a Ducati. They handle better, and I bet if I had one last year, I would have beat America and his silly Harley Davidson into the concrete." He smiled dryly at the memory, America hadn't let that loss go for a long while; _Jeez, lil' bro, what were you thinking going against me on that? I feel bad for you Mattie; it's so un-cool to be riding around on that crap._

Yeah, Matthew had to restrain himself from punching his brother in the face. Peace was supposed to be his motto, wasn't it?

Katyusha laughed, "That bike is Ivan's little baby with the way he treats it sometimes."

"As he should, such a bike deserves all the attention it can get," Smiling, Canada glanced at Russia, "You've taken great care of it."

Ivan gave a slight nod in appreciation before turning around to start the car. Matthew could have rolled his eyes, _the man couldn't say thank you_. But he easily kept the smile on his face. Russia's interest in racing intrigued him, and his flattery brightened the man's expression a bit. No longer were the light eyebrows scrunched together as if he was dreading every step he took, but the face was smooth and controlled. Canada was glad, he did want Russia to have fun on this outing, the whole trip would be pointless otherwise.

The car pulled away from the house with the garage door closing behind them. There were few vehicles on the road as they traveled, and with the windows open a crack, the chilly but refreshing morning air filled the cabin. Canada's mood lifted as he took a deep breath. In so many ways the smell and the feel of the air around here reminded him of his own at home.

He was eternally thankful for that, he didn't think he'd be able to stand a complete month in some place tropical. For a holiday, sure, a hot sandy beach atmosphere would be bearable, but personally, no matter how much he could hate the snowy landscape of his land, even during winter, it was _his_. At the end of the day he loved the snow, enjoyed the cold, and thrived in it.

If there was one thing he could count on in Russia, it was the weather. Ivan could be as impossible to deal with as he wanted, but the snow would always be the same.

"You know, little Ivan," Matthew jerked his head up from his blank stare at the passing scenery, he hadn't mean to zone out and how could Katyusha call Ivan _little_? "We should take Matvey to Gorky Park!"

That tightened expression from earlier returned to Ivan's face, much to Matthew's exasperation. _Why? Why, Ukraine?_

The blonde woman continued to smile as if she didn't notice, "We used to go there lots of times!"

"What is it?" Matthew asked. After all, with the look on Ivan's face, one would think it was hell itself they were being asked to waltz into.

"It's an amusement park with lots of rides and events, it's more popular in the summer, but they have some wonderful things to do in these winter months as well."

Canada glanced from Ukraine's excited face to Russia's look of utmost dread and giggled, "That sounds fun, but I don't think your brother agrees."

Katyusha put on a pout which Matthew had to say was amazingly effective, "Oh, please, брат. Can we go?"

Ivan gave a choked groan and Matthew giggled, "You wouldn't deny your sister such a request would you? Look at her," Ukraine's bottom lip stuck out further and her eyes widened. "She'd be heartbroken if you said no, Russia."

Ivan kept glancing at his sister beside him, his will faltering. He always strived to make his sister happy, that never changed and while she was here he wanted her to have fun and be happy. "Fine." It came out as more of a growl, but Katyusha cheered, the sad expression immediately wiped from her face. Her arms draped across his broad shoulders, and her big bust pressed against his right arm.

"Thank you, little Ivan, this will be so fun! Thank you!"

Ivan struggled to keep the car in its rightful lane as she smothered him. His whole body remained stiff and though he didn't make a move to return her affections, the corners of his mouth tilted slightly, "Da."

She withdrew, bouncing in her seat even more, the seatbelt doing nothing to keep her still. "You'll love it, Matvey. There's a huge ice rink in front for everyone and plenty of gardens; even in the winter. The staff must be busy with them all the time and the rides are wonderful!"

"It sounds really fun! It's been a long time since I've been to an amusement park." Canada replied.

Ivan sighed, "Does that mean you don't want to go to Izmailovsky Market?"

Leaning forward to see the Russian's face, Matthew smiled, "We can do that tomorrow! We have a whole week to do these kinds of things after all. We should fill it up!"

"Da," He gave in, it was clear that he wouldn't win this argument. Conversation lagged as Ukraine fiddled with the stereo, choosing a station playing an upbeat sounding song. She translated some lyrics for Matthew as she sang along with the woman's voice.

"Love has two on a swing, the two on a swing are chosen by destiny, ups and downs are rolling like waves, the two on a swing - it's you and me." Her voice was beautiful, much like the singer on the radio, and Matthew liked the sound. It reminded him of a mother, if that made sense. Ukraine had the voice of someone who would sing lullabies to a child.

He wondered what it would have been like growing up with a sister like Ukraine. Francis had sung to him when he was young, before he was given to England. Arthur had never done that though. He had tucked them in at night, kissed them on the forehead (checked the closest upon Alfred's request to make sure no monsters dwelled in the space), and left the door ajar so the light from the hallway would make the room a little less dark.

There were no… motherly qualities about Arthur, and while Matthew never expected any, there had been times that he wished for a woman's presence. They were soft, kind, sympathetic, and he had always been able to connect with them easier, perhaps because he himself was kind and shy; he'd never been an abrasive, roughhousing boy like Alfred.

If there was anything Matthew was absolutely sure of, it was that Ukraine loved her siblings. She took care of them. He could see her cooking, cleaning, washing, grooming – making sure that Russia was comfortable. Canada didn't know Belarus (he remembered meeting her once or twice, but she was more standoffish than Russia), but he would think Katyusha treated her much the same way.

Yet, looking at Russia, he felt saddened at the fact that for all of Ukraine's attempts, he still turned out so… cold. He didn't blame the man, Russia's origins were dark and violent. There was no way of stopping such tragedy from affecting him, even with a sister like Katyusha by his side. If anything, the world should be thankful for the little help Ukraine did give, no doubt things would have been a lot worse without her.

"Are we there yet?" Kumajirou asked from beside Matthew.

"Нет," Russia answered.

Kumajirou just yawned, rolling over to get more comfortable on the dark leather seat, "How about now?"

"Don't do that." Ivan growled, glaring at the road. Canada and Ukraine both shared a look.

Grinning, Matthew waited a few seconds for Russia's posture to relax once more, then, "Are we there yet?"

Ukraine's laugh almost drowned out the string of Russian curses from Ivan. Matthew's grin never left his face, "Now who has a dirty mouth?"

"Don't you dare!"

…oOo…

"Wow!" Matthew appreciated the park from the entrance. The big sign was in Russian and the line of people waiting to get in clued Matthew into just how popular this place was. Over the gate he could see some of the taller rides; a Ferris wheel rose from the top of the trees, slowly turning the passengers around its circumference. A great Tower in the distance reached towards the sky, a gondola full of thrill seekers screaming faintly as they were suddenly dropped from a height of three hundred feet. Matthew immediately wanted to ride that one.

"Why don't you show Matvey the Graveyard of the Fallen Monuments," Katyusha said as they stepped in line. "I'll get us tickets."

Ivan hummed, as if he was thinking about doing so or not. Matthew just blinked, "Graveyard?"

Ukraine pointed across from the park entrance where another gate, open to anyone, welcomed people into a serene garden-like scene. "There are statues, memorials, and famous sculptures in there." She put her lithe hand on Russia's shoulder, "Show him, брат."

"Da," He didn't look too happy about it though. Together, they stepped out of line and walked across the concrete walkway to the garden. Ivan said nothing as they walked in and Matthew didn't mind; content to follow close behind in silence. Snow blanketed the ground, lightly in some places where people traveled more often, and other places there were obvious signs of the white ice being shoveled out of the way.

If anything, the snow added a certain beauty to the gardens. It must have snowed just before they left the house because it looked fresh; its white was clean, the flakes intact, and it had yet to turn into slush, even on the more frequently walked paths.

Through the entrance, things opened into a large courtyard where people milled around, speaking to each other in different tones and observing the many monuments scattered along the field. Light layers of snow settled over the dark granite and marble of statues as they came into view and Matthew smiled. The place held an atmosphere of tranquility, even with the chatter of the other people, it retained its title of 'graveyard,' and as such, people's attitudes mellowed and even the children who still ran around excitedly spoke in more hushed voices.

It wasn't as if this was a _real_ graveyard; there were no dead buried here, but memorials representing the dead deserved respect all the same. Walking at a soft pace, Matthew looked around at the different structures, one memorial catching his eye. At the far end stood a raised symbol; a circular earth surrounded by wings and olive branches, the Soviet symbol of the hammer and sickle in the middle, and a five pointed star at the top. It was raised above all other statues, emphasizing its importance.

Around the two nations were monuments of different wars; a tank with soldiers, comrades in arms.

"Who is this?" Matthew asked, looking to a group of three, standing in rigged postures, shoulders back, and foot stepped forward. It was the standard body language of one who held power, the man in the middle held a hand out, offering it to an invisible figure in front of him.

Ivan tilted his head a bit. "The one on the left is a farmer, depicting the importance of the lower class people who provide food and money. The one to the right is of the elite, the rich nobles who advise and lead. And the one in the middle is the leader, the soldier, the one who protects and shelters all within his powers."

"He has a kind face." Canada observed. The smooth contours of stone carved to show a strong jaw and a broad nose. The eyes were hollow, and the lips were thinned, but subtle lines around the eyes and cheeks suggested that although the man was a trained warrior, he knew kindness.

Russia stared at the represented soldier. "A woman sculpted this," His voice was devoid of emotion. "Apparently, she had fallen in love with a general she had met as he passed through her village. It was a time when the peasants had begun to revolt. The rich hired mercenaries to destroy the city that had caused them so much trouble. She was captured and lined up to be shot but he saved her."

The sentence trailed off and Matthew glanced at the Russian, "What happened then?"

"He defied orders, abandoned his duty, and ran away with her," His voice held an edge to it. "She did this before she and her traitor of a husband died at the hands of the army he used to lead."

Canada was careful with his words, "You believe it was wrong for him to save her?"

Violet eyes looked to him, "Traitors are not tolerated. They are not now, and they certainly weren't back then." Holding the gaze for a few seconds, Ivan broke the contact and went back to the monument. "Soldiers are supposed to be strong, physically and emotionally. He was meant to fulfill his duty to his people first. If his superior tells him to jump into a raging inferno for the good of their mission, that man better damn well do it, otherwise he is useless. Not only did this man go against orders, but he turned against the men who followed him for a _woman_ on the other side of enemy lines."

His voice nothing but a soft whisper, Matthew put in his own opinion, "The soldier side is all about sacrifice, yes, but it is impossible to completely separate humanity from a person's lifestyle. One needs to have something to tie him to his goal. What is the point of joining war if not to protect someone? Love is-"

"Soldiers are not meant to love," Ivan interrupted him. "They are meant to kill."

The Russian turned to walk down the path, continuing to another statue a bit farther away. Matthew sighed, knowing he wouldn't get anywhere on that topic of conversation. Subconsciously he tightened his grip around Kumajirou in his arms, following Ivan to the next stone structure. "Okay, so what is this one?"

"A replica of The Motherland Calls in Volgograd, this one is significantly smaller though." The original statue stood over two hundred feet and was related to America's Statue of Liberty in importance to the Russian people. The one in front of them was more like fifteen feet tall.

The woman was carved out of a white marble, yellowing a bit with age and the exposure to the elements, but she still stood proud, a sword in one hand, and the other outstretched in a warm invitation. The hair around her face seemed windblown, un-kept and tasseled, the folds of her dress snapping around her lean form. "Mother Russia?"

"Da," Canada turned to look at Ivan, opening his mouth to ask a question but a hand in front of his face stopped him. Russia's eyes narrowed. "I know what you're going to ask. And the answer is no; I have no mother. And if I did, I do not remember her."

The blond frowned. "But then why-"

"You ask too many questions," He snapped. "Can't you leave it alone?"

He turned to walk away again, like he wanted to put as much distance between him and the Canadian as possible. Matthew huffed, _why was it so hard to talk to this guy? _He jogged to keep up with the long strides. They passed many different sculptures along the way; wooden and metal figures with disproportionate frames; too skinny torsos, oblong heads, wide mouths, multiple jointed fingers. Matthew recognized a few depictions of Stalin and Lenin. There were monuments of the Great Purge (cages with stones carved to look like grotesque faces inside), and the Arms Race (missile-like structures and a rocket).

"And this is the last," Russia said, gesturing to the largest of all the statues that had been hidden by the surrounding trees until now. It stood out from the garden and its base was submerged in the water of the Moscow River running alongside the park; befitting the statue as the granite was shaped into a ship.

It stood incredibly tall, the sails of the 'ship' pointing far into the sky. On top, almost as big as the object itself, was a man reaching out with a golden scroll in his hand.

"Peter the Great," Ivan explained. "The first to make me an Empire. He started the first regular army and a navy. Beat Sweden in order to regain control of the Baltic Sea, and he boosted international trade so much that I had the best economy of the century."

"So he was a founding father or something, eh?" Ivan hummed in a half-committed agreement. "What? You gave him all that praise an-"

"I wasn't praising him. I merely gave you facts about what he had accomplished in his life since I knew you would ask for that information anyway."

"Oh," There was an awkward moment between them. "So you… didn't like him?"

The emotion in Ivan's eyes kind of threw Matthew for a loop; it was a cross between disgust and Cacceptance, a strange combination. "He was not a kind man," He admitted. "And yet, he was nicer than many others that have ruled over me."

Canada thought about asking who the worst was. Lenin, Stalin, perhaps one of the Tsars? Instead he asked, "Who was your favorite?"

"I would say Mikhail Gorbachev."

"That was when you were the USSR." Matthew was careful to say it without much emotion, having been against communism in the past, though he was a bit ashamed of that now and he didn't want Russia to think he was prejudiced any more. However, Ivan still looked as if he was insulted, the glare harsh and scalding.

"He was the last leader of the Soviet Union. He was a communist and yet he went through much trouble to fix the declining state of affairs, despite everything falling apart around him. He was a kind and great ruler. You wouldn't understand."

"N-non, I'm sorry, I wasn't being offensive," Mauve eyes lowered, chin burying into Kumajirou's fur. He noticed the past tense phrases Ivan had spoken with. "Has he passed on?"

"Leukemia, 1999." He replied.

Nodding softly in condolence, Canada sighed, wondering how to lighten the tension between them. "You want to go back to Katyusha now?"

"Da." Their walk was slower this time around. Kumajirou wiggled in Matthew's arms until he was put down and the polar bear immediately went to the untouched snow off the path. He rolled in it, much to Canada's protests of him getting wet, in order to feel the cold and clean his fur. Even through his frustration, Matthew smiled at his friend's frolicking. "How do you know my sister so well?" Ivan suddenly asked.

A blush crossed the Canadian's face and he looked down, speaking softly, "I was the first to recognize her as an independent nation." He didn't see the flash of regret on Russia's face. "She was so thankful, she wanted to treat me to dinner. I tried to refuse, I didn't want to impose, but she insisted and… well, Katyusha is very nice. She never forgot me and I really did want to help her. We became friends… not necessarily as countries but as people. I enjoy her company."

Matthew smiled, looking to Ivan happily, "We don't see each other too often, as we're very busy, but she talks about you a lot. Like I said before, she looks up to you and cares about you."

"Нет, if she did she would not have left in the first place, would she? Besides, political relations are not going so well between us right now. Her boss is… difficult. Her whole government is." Matthew opened his mouth to argue but Ivan continued on, determined to speak. "She says she cares about my well being and yet she keeps herself so far away from me. Сестра tells me nothing, does not let me help when she needs it, and for a long time, even refused to see me. Little Matvey, you have lied."

"I have not!"

"Then how do you justify how she treats me? This is the longest I have been able to talk to her about anything other than national affairs in _years_ because she is so focused on keeping me out."

"I can't speak for her about that, but the fact that she's here - the fact that she was so worried about you when you were sick means that she _does_ care about you." He stopped in his tracks, clasping his hand into Russia's jacket near his elbow to get him to stop as well. Ivan turned to him with an irritated expression, a shrug from his broad shoulders shook Canada's hand off but he stayed. "You are her little brother. You always will be. That's something personal, it has nothing to do with nationality. Forget your governments, the land, the people, and your duties – if you were just Ivan Braginski, would you still love her?"

"That is a stupid ques-"

"Just answer," It felt good to be the one interrupt someone else this time. "I love my brother, Alfred Jones," Somewhere around the world a certain American paused his video game to sneeze violently. Canada felt a headache coming on. "Now, if I can say _that_, you can certainly say that you love _your_ sibling."

Russia just glared, "Fine, I do."

"No, you have to say it," The Russian's face darkened even more and Matthew waited patiently. Seconds passed, Russia glared at a distant monument. Minutes ticked by like hours. Finally, Matthew started to get impatient. "I… Lo~… ve," He tried to get Ivan to say it with him, but the violet eyes were narrowed and the Russian's mouth was stubbornly kept shut. "Come on, Russia. I l-o-v-e… love."

"Will you stop this foolishness?"

"Say it," He whined. "I won't leave you alone until you say it!"

"No!"

"It's just a word, are you afraid of a word?"

"I am not-"

"Then say it!"

"I love… my sister," He growled out. "Now drop it."

"Okay," Matthew replied happily, as if everything was great in the world once more. "That wasn't hard, was it?"

"Not at all," The Russian snapped, stalking through the garden to the Park entrance. Matthew picked up Kumajirou before following.

"Hey," Matthew called.

"What_,_ Черт побери? _What_?"

The Canadian cowered a bit at his tone and the murderous look being thrown his way, he was losing his courage again, but slowly the words started to come out, "This is your chance to repair the rift between you and Katyusha. I'll help you out." Russia just rolled his eyes, reaching into his coat to take out his flask of vodka. He took a few large gulps before returning putting it back. "I mean it. Look, we have fun today; we ride the rides, eat a bunch of snacks, and do whatever your people usually do in order to have an awesome time. If she has fun, those walls will eventually come down. After all, the best medicine is laughter!"

"Where did you get that shit?"

This time, Matthew was the one to roll his eyes, "It's the truth! Laughter can cure many things. Now, we need get rid of this tense atmosphere around you and your sister and your relationship will easily improve. You just need to lighten up, you know? You're so defensive."

Ivan resisted the urge to argue, he was quickly coming to terms with the fact that Matthew simply would not give up in expressing his naïve little opinions. "Fine, it does not matter, do what you want."

Matthew put his left hand on Ivan's bicep, "Relax a bit more. Have fun today, okay?"

Russia looked at the hand touching him in distaste, "Stop touching me, _okay_?"

Grinning a bit, Matthew removed his hand, "Does it bother you?" Feeling courageous and hyperactive, he reached out with his pointer finger, keeping distance and not touching the Russian, but the appendage was not to be ignored. "I'm not touching you."

Blinking, Ivan looked from the boy's face to the offending finger. "You are incredibly childish, you know that?"

"Says the man who fakes innocence while bashing peoples' faces in."

"I have not done such a thing since-"

"The hockey game we played the other day when you hit my left wing with your stick?"

Despite his efforts, a cruel smile lifted Russia's lips, "That doesn't count, it wasn't personal."

"Why does it have to be personal to count?" The finger steadily rose from the height of Russia's elbow to his shoulder.

"Because it's only really satisfying when the face you're bashing in is someone you honestly want to hurt. For instance, that kid's pain, while entertaining, would not have cheered me up as much as if America had been in his place."

Ivan smiled happily at the thought while Matthew held in a wince. "I'm sure. But no, I still say it counts, because that's still in the 'causing pain' category, personally wronged or not."

"Causing pain category." Russia repeated, amused.

"Oui," Canada's hand moved up to his face, a three inch distance between the pad of his finger and the pale skin of Ivan's cheek. "Does this boil your insides into a pool of liquid rage?"

"Da," Russia smiled. "I feel the liquid rage, and it's telling me to break more fingers."

Even with the unease of that creepy face of childish happiness, Matthew took a chance and pressed forward, successfully poking Russia's cheek with his finger, sticking his tongue out in victory. Immediately afterwards he squeaked in surprise, ducking quickly under Russia's hands as the man lunged for him. Running a little ways to stay out of the Russian's reach, Canada turned to observe the irritated face of Ivan Braginski. Even though the violet eyes promised pain, the blond couldn't help but laugh. "It was just a little touch, Russia!" He teased.

Growling, Ivan started to stalk towards him, "You will regret those words."

Still smiling, even as he backed up rapidly, Matthew replied, "Not today!" And he turned and sped away like the hounds of hell were at his heels, and really, perhaps they were because he heard heavy footsteps following him as he raced to the lines of people at the entrance to Gorky Park. Katyusha was seen near the front, standing patiently with the others, chatting to a little girl and her mother in front of her excitedly.

Matthew slid on the icy concrete, coming to a stop right next to her so suddenly that she didn't see him until the shadow of his form fell on her. He was grinning, adrenalin racing through his system from that short little sprint. He should tease Ivan more often! It was like one of his extreme sports, only it definitely included pain.

Russia was there not a second after, looking as calm and collected as ever. A large arm wrapped around Matthew's shoulders in a way that looked endearing to onlookers. But the tense muscles squeezed him close to the man's side at painful pressures. "What should we do first?"

"Drop Tower." Matthew whispered, trying to breathe against the huge man's rock solid side, his arms were pinned, and the white scarf Ivan wore was attempting to suffocate him. Kumajirou slipped away at the last second, landing on the ground and reaching up to Ukraine, where he was lifted up into safer arms. Canada would have called him a traitor if his brain hadn't been deprived of oxygen.

Russia blinked innocently, uncaring of the struggling Canadian in his grasp, "You like heights? I would figure you to be a coward about those rides."

Squirming against the unyielding iron-like arm around him, he wormed his way into a position where he could breathe better, body to the side and face away from the wool scarf, he huffed in frustration. "I love thrill rides. I won't get scared because of something like that."

"We will see, Da?"

"Ivan," Ukraine began, her face lined with worry. "You are not hurting little Matvey are you?"

Matthew wanted to yell, _Yes, now get this psycho off me!_ But their conversation from before stopped him. Hadn't he just promised to Ivan that he would help improve their relationship? "Not at all!" Canada gasped, forcing a smile.

Matthew's thin arms shifted in order to give Russia a limp hug and Ivan's body suddenly froze, from his position Matthew couldn't see his face, but he hoped it didn't express the need for murder. "We just had a talk in the Garden and… we've put everything in the past and now, I think we're going to be great friends!"

Katyusha looked unsure, "Really? What did you talk about?"

Wracking his brain for something to say, Matthew stuttered a bit, "W-we were talking about… Hockey and… stuff like that." He was so bad at lying!

Nudging Russia in the ribs, Canada prayed he would say something and help his own cause. "D-da," He cleared his throat. "Matvey is very interesting. He likes sports, very passionate about Hockey."

"We connected!"

Katyusha looked back and forth, wondering what to believe. Kumajirou rolled his eyes, probably thinking something along the lines of, _this is so incredibly stupid, why am I here?_ But Katyusha's eyes eventually brightened and her face lit up in joy, she lunged to the two nations, embracing them with one arm. "This is wonderful! I'm so happy you made a friend, little Ivan, a real friend!"

Russia was obviously extremely uncomfortable, but at least he wasn't strangling Matthew anymore. Said Canadian could only put on a fake smile, thinking about digging his own grave. Katyusha chattered on happily, randomly initiating group hugs and fussing over silly things like Ivan's hair hanging in his eyes and Matthew's thin form ("you getting enough to eat Matvey?"). Kumajirou just growled under his breath, not appreciating all the commotion. He missed his quiet, relaxing home in the Canadian mountains. Warm nights by the fire, lazing around on his friend's lap and gently falling asleep to the pets and scratches behind his ears.

At least there he did not have to worry about Matthew being killed in horrific ways by an angry Russian. Matthew wouldn't be panicking about stupid things like helping the psycho, and Katyusha (while very nice) wouldn't continuously hug him to death.

…Thank You…

Longest chapter yet, but the majority of you guys said longer is better, and two weeks leaves quite a bit more time than I need, so here you go! Enjoy!

A little about the direction of this story: a vague outline of this was made before the first chapter was posted but I keep fleshing out the insides a bit, so some things are randomly added it seems. It's wondering at the moment, but these life-time scenes are the seeds of budding relationships that I will improve on during this "month" of changing Ivan. So bear with me if some twists and turns are made; there probably won't be any action for a _long_ time. You'll be entertained by Ivan and Matthew for now though, I promise. :)

The Sims 3 update, since all of you were surprisingly into it last time: Ivan and Matthew are married! They didn't get along well at first, Ivan is pretty cruel to everyone he meets, but Matthew's good traits made things up and with my help they got together pretty easily. They now have a son. O.o I named him Gavlin (a less popular Russian name for boys).

Alfred… He's at the top of the professional sports career, owns a huge house, living the (American) dream. But he hasn't been in any relationships; lots of romantic interests, but no significant other. It's surprising, that's something I would have expected of Francis (who's still cheating on his wife). Even Arthur is in a relationship with a random NPC character! So why not my country?

I made a China and Japan! Yao was difficult; his character is sort of an oxymoron, he's serious and mature, and yet has these outbursts of childishness (particularly with Shinatty-doll).

The song on the radio is "Two on a Swing"; you can find the song on youtube, search for: Алсу - Двое на качелях. – Copy and paste, ya'll.

_Translation:_

Comprendre (French): Understand

Мальчик (Russian): Boy

Черт побери (Russian): Damn it

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own the music or anime associated with this story, or any other copyrighted things included. Actually, I'm wondering if I own anything at all… like, not even the words. I'm not sure anymore. XD


	10. Счастливый: Happy

Chapter 10: Счастливый: Happy

"Are you sure you can handle this, comrade Matvey?" Ivan asked, his voice laced with fake concern. He had been making sarcastic and cruel statements all throughout the park. As they waited in line for the Drop Tower they bickered in whispers so that Ukraine wouldn't hear.

Matthew put on a fake smile, "Thank you for your concern, _friend_, but I'm sure I can take on any of these silly rides. Not sure about you though. You seem all big and tough, but I bet you're the type to freak out at tiny things."

Russia smiled right back, "What are we betting?"

"It was an expression! We're doing no more betting after last time."

"You only say that because you fear I will win."

"… Yes. Duh." Matthew replied, a blank look on his face.

"If this is too much for you we can go to the kiddy rides. At least there you might be tall enough to actually ride them."

"I'm not so short! Just because you're freakishly tall-"

Ukraine turned to them, "We're next boys. Let's go!"

Katyusha put Kumajirou down on the ground in front of the tower where he yawned and looked bored. The three nations each took a free seat on the gondola, Ivan in the middle. The bright red metal harness came down over their shoulders to click securely between their legs; it was restricting, but it left enough room for them to look around and there were handles on the sides for people to grip onto in their terror.

Grinning in anticipation, Matthew waved cheerfully at the polar bear several feet in front of him. "Be back soon Kumachiwa!"

"Who?"

"Canada!" He shouted, and it was almost in a regular tone of voice. He turned to look across Russia to Katyusha, who looked nervous but excited, holding onto the metal bars around her in anxiety. "You okay, Katyusha?"

"Fine, Matvey! Just… when do we go?"

"Soon." Ivan assured her. The staff came around; pulling on the harnesses to make sure every one was solidly locked into place. Russia looked to Canada, observing how the boy held no fear, only anticipation; purple eyes bright, flecks of blue sparkled in the orbs, and that wide smile was real and beautiful.

Catching his gaze, Canada leaned towards him as far as the harness would allow to speak with him, "Ukraine looks scared, comfort her."

Glancing to his sister on the other side of him, he hid his worry at finding her pale faced and fidgety. "Сестра, do not be frightened."

Cool blue eyes looked to him, and a shaky smile struggled to right itself on her face. "I'm not usually so afraid of heights. I'm fine, little Ivan, it's just a silly ride, da?"

"Da," He agreed. Then the gondola groaned as the metal behind them whirled to life, slowly starting to rise off the ground. The higher they went the more excited Matthew became. He swung his feet back and forth lightly, watching as Kumajirou and the other thrill seekers waiting for their turn grew smaller. Russia smiled. "Did you know that something weighing fifty grams dropped from a height of five hundred feet could kill someone?"

Canada, still grinning as they continued to rise answered, "If there's little to no air resistance."

Sharing a look, Russia pointed to his footwear, "My boots weigh almost five pounds."

"Why are they that heavy?"

"Steel-toe," Canada's mouth made an 'o' shape as he understood. Ivan continued with what he wanted to say. "Should we test the theory?"

Blinking in shock, Matthew stared at the Russian in horror, "On your own people?"

"Нет," Russia responded, looking offended. He then pointed out to the slowly shrinking crowd around the Tower. "The man in the bright orange sweater," Canada looked for him, spotting him almost immediately with the color he decided to wear. "American tourist." Russia said.

For a second Matthew processed the thought before he tilted his head back and laughed loudly. "N-non," He let out between snickers.

"It would be an unfortunate accident."

Matthew tried to control his laughs, "Okay, okay, not a boot - a penny - something extremely light so it won't hurt him."

"But, little Matvey, that is the point."

"We don't want to kill the guy, he did nothing to you."

"He's Alfred's descendant, that's enough."

"Russia," He scolded. "Throw the penny."

Chuckling, he struggled to reach around the harness into his pants pocket. "Now who is a sadist?"

"If we get caught, it's your entire fault."

"Guilty by association, you could have stopped me at any time."

"Oh, of course, because stopping you when you want something is so easy for me to do." Smiling, holding a ten ruble coin (about the size of a US quarter), a soft "kol" sound escaped Russia's throat.

"Just make sure you aim right."

"Oh, perhaps the record breaking sniper should throw it instead?"

"No way, this is all you, I'm an innocent bystander."

Russia snorted in disagreement. As they slowly climbed higher into the air, Matthew looked around the park, seeing all the available rides from the new view and picking which ones he'd like to go on next. When they reached the top of the tower, the gondola shuddered to a stop, waiting for an undetermined amount of time.

Ivan brought his hand up above his head before whipping it down at speeds no average human could replicate. It would have been impossible to track the coin with the naked eye as it flew through the air and it seemed like in the split fraction of a second that Ivan's hand fell, the small orange wearing American flailed in the distance before collapsing to the concrete.

"You threw it too hard!" Matthew gasped.

"I did not, he will be fine."

With narrowed eyes the Canadian looked at him warily, "What is your definition of fine?"

It should not be possible for such a cruel man to look so innocent, "He'll get up with only a small concussion."

"That's not funny."

Broad shoulders shrugged, "It is for me."

"Все готовы к возвращению обратно на Землю_," _A voice echoed from a set of speakers above them, it seemed to be a question, and the riders around them yelled back in rapid Russian even though the announcer probably couldn't hear them. "десять, девять, восемь_…"_ Those last words Matthew recognized; it was a countdown. He grinned in anticipation, hands gripping the bars.

Russia could not help but grin as well; both from the upcoming drop and the before action of inflecting pain on another (what could he say, he enjoyed it). However, he was suddenly aware that Ukraine's expression had not improved. She was scared, obviously, and he couldn't quite understand why (it wasn't like they'd die, even if this thing really did drop without support), and he was lost on what to do to comfort her. He had tried talking to her before about how being afraid was not necessary, it was just a quick drop. Moreover, this height was nothing in comparison to when they had to jump out of aircrafts during war.

His right arm shoved at Canada to his right, earning a squeak and an irritated "_what_" in reply. Mauve tinted eyes came over to observe Katyusha, his euphoric face turning more concerned. Ivan was relieved when a sudden smile overtook the boy's face, thinking that a plan had been made and the nation could convince his sister that there was nothing to fear. Instead, a small hand grabbed his and held it out in triumph. "Katyusha," Matthew called, and the woman looked to him with wide eyes. Russia and Canada's joined hands held displayed for her to see. "Hold on, eh?"

Ivan had wanted to snap about how he was not something to _hold on _to, but Ukraine's little smile stopped him and her thin arms wrapped around his left bicep, bringing the appendage close to her chest. Her shivering ceased, and a bit of color came back to her face. Russia held back a groan of annoyance. He was too crowded. A glare was sent Matthew's way and he tried to pull back his hand back. The boy had gotten his point across, his sister could hug him if it made her feel better, but he drew the line at the Canadian's affections.

The operator of the ride kept counting down, "Cемь, шесть, пять, четыре, три-"

However, the small hand only gripped tighter, pale skin almost as white as his own blended with the Russian's and the little fingers wrapped around his in a vice that betrayed the weak stature of the blond.

Violet eyes grew dark in irritation as Ivan glowered, Canada smiled, "Don't be such a fun-sucker," He called.

Russia opened his mouth to reply to this insult but the supports holding the gondola up suddenly released and the ride dropped, freefalling so suddenly that many on the ride screamed; either in joy or in fright. The announcer stopped himself at three, that deceiving man, luring everyone into a false sense of security.

Matthew grinned, holding up both his hands into the air; Ivan's forcefully joining as they made their rapid decent to the ground. The feeling of the fall was invigorating! Their bodies seemed weightless and organs seemingly flipped with the sudden drop. It only took a few seconds until they slowed to a safe stop, in the exact same place they were when they got on. Kumajirou still sat there, looking bored and the people all around remained the same, but Matthew felt different, he was awake, excited, and hyperactive.

The metal bars let them up and Canada stood, smile wide and a bounce in his step. He lifted Russia's hand up again, "That was awesome! Wasn't it?"

Ivan looked disgruntled, and he shook his right arm until the boy released him. Katyusha looked significantly better though as she snuggled closer to her little brother; Matthew noting the way Russia didn't try to get her off. "It was fun," She said, "Really scary, but fun."

Matthew opened his mouth to talk about the next ride they should go to but was interrupted by a loud shout. "No! Something hit me. Do you not understand that? Fucking commies, of course you wouldn't. Learn English!"

With wide eyes, Matthew turned to see the American tourist in the orange sweater yelling at a member of the staff. The voice was deep and angry, but the words were almost identical to what Alfred himself had said many times. Insults of Commies, and complaints about the Russian language… it was so eerily like America that Matthew felt a giggle work its way through his chest.

"Look! It hit me right here!" The boy turned to a woman who presumably knew him, pointing to a spot just above his hairline. Tears welled up in his eyes and the man looked ready to burst into a sobbing mess. "It hurts." She nodded her head in sympathy.

Picking up Kumajirou, Canada tried to hide his laughs in the animal's fur.

The man suddenly threw himself on the woman, "I'm in pain! Take me to the hospital!" He gasped. "No! You're right, hospitals are too risky! They may take my kidney!"

Canada closed his eyes, his laughs becoming harder to hide. What a drama-queen. "Matvey, let's go!" Ukraine called as she and her brother walked to the exit.

Matthew ran to catch up, "D-did you hear that?"

Russia smiled a bit, "Da, he was such a child, crying like that."

"He was so _Alfred_."

"I feel offended though. My hospitals are not that bad."

Matthew and Katyusha were reduced to fits of giggles; Ivan didn't seem to care about the comments on his speech or government, but his hospitals deserved retribution!

The three nations joked and laughed along the walkway.

"What is that?" Matthew asked, pointing to a large poster on display. It showed a giant picture of a woman in bright, celebratory colors wearing a smiling mask. People all around her seemed happy and cheerful. The caption was in Russian, Matthew couldn't read it.

"Maslenitsa," Russia answered. "It is a week long holiday to celebrate the passing of winter."

Ukraine suddenly grinned in a wicked way, a very unusual expression for one such as her to make, and in all honesty, it put the other two on edge. "And guess what we get to eat all week, little Matvey," She said in a light tone. It was as if she knew some dirty secret that would be the Canadian's undoing.

"W-what," He asked.

"Pancakes!" Her arms lifted up in a cheer.

A look of confusion, and then shock showed on Matthew's face, his eyes wide, and mouth open, "S-seriously?"

"Yes! Sleigh rides, snow ball tournaments, games, bonfires, and family gatherings where you stuff yourself full of pancakes!"

_Mon Dieu, a logical reason to feast on my all-time favorite food,_ He awed. "Best holiday _ever_! It's ingenious!" Wide eyes turned to Russia who was admittedly a little confused at what the fuss was about. "Who created such a thing?"

"The pagans." Ivan said slowly, blinking.

Canada's happy grin faded to a pout, "We don't have anything like that in the Americas. Mardi Gras and Carnival de Québec… but a holiday with a significance on pancakes? Amazing."

"What's so special about pancakes?" He asked.

Ukraine giggled. "Pancakes are Matvey's favorite food, little Ivan. He's obsessed with them."

"I'm not obsessed." Mathew protested, but it was in such a low whisper they didn't seem to hear. _I'm not,_ He assured himself, burying his chin into the white fur in his arms.

Russia smirked.

…oOo…

Canada would easily admit that he had lots of fun throughout the park. There were plenty of rides ranging from relaxing to scary. Matthew had his eyes open for the big ones; roller coasters and thrill rides. He looked for the ones that involved loops, spins, drops, or tunnels, eagerly pulling the others into the relatively short lines for such a bright day.

Ukraine followed politely, but it was obvious she wasn't as excited as Matthew regarding this type of entertainment. Ivan's left arm was starting to go numb from the force of her clutches.

In return for her kindness in sticking it through with the more wild stuff, Canada and Russia allowed themselves to be dragged to rides like the Ferris Wheel and the (can you imagine?) Teacups. Matthew would forever remember the picture of an irritated Russia sitting in a pink and purple teacup, spinning around merrily with the cheery music in the background.

Then again, Canada was stuck beside him going through the same thing, watching the world blur by slowly, the little kids in the neighboring teacup screaming and laughing obnoxiously. Both Northern countries sagged against the sides of the fake porcelain watching with dull eyes and disappointed hearts. They had just come off a ride called the Frisbee (a spinning disk that twisted them around upside down and to the sides) so the adrenalin in their system wanted more and yet, this kiddy ride was such a letdown.

The first thing they did after getting off that was search for the Sling Shot ride, which did exactly as it was titled; a reverse Bungee Jump. Ukraine gave a light whimper, once again attaching herself to her little brother, much to his grief. He wanted space!

They spent hours walking the park, participating in almost every activity there was to offer, that was, until they got the more carnival-like attractions. Stands that involved competition; water-gun shootouts, Frisbee throwing, horseshoe, basketball, races… Canada and Russia took those victories to heart, and when all the large entertainment rides had been seen, they took their focus to other things. Such as bumper cars…

Ukraine burst into a fit of laughter as Canada's electrical car rammed into hers at the side, the rubber perimeter around their small vehicles lessened the impact but she was still thrown to the side a bit. Matthew took the shift-stick near the steering wheel in his hands, pulling it down and into reverse, looking behind him to aim his next attack at Russia. They collided violently going at the full speeds these cars would allow; 2 mph? Through his giggles, Matthew called out to the Russian, "It's like a kind of therapy!"

He rammed his car into another unsuspecting male who laughed and returned the favor as they passed.

"Not even close." Ivan replied, and Matthew suddenly jerked to the side as his little red car got clipped in the side.

"Not enough blood for you?"

"Da." Russia rammed into Canada again, childish smile alight on his face.

"You know," He said aloud, driving his front bumper into Russia's little blue car the hulking man hardly fit into. "I'm beginning to think you're a vampire."

"How so, comrade Matvey?"

"You're violent- ah!"

Russia's smile widened as his car backed away, he shifted gears into drive in order to ram into the Canadian again. Matthew yelped with the collision. "Hey!" Not wanting to be outdone, he pressed the accelerator and turned the wheel to hit Ivan back. "Point proven!"

Both of them were suddenly thrown back as Katyusha drove her pink car into theirs, she laughed as both Northern countries looked surprised. "Take that!"

Matthew grinned, turning his car around, aiming his front bumper to hers, he stepped on the accelerator once more, yelling as he sped up, "Revenge!"

And where was Kumajirou in all this? Down in the floorboards of Matthew's little vehicle, holding on for dear life, wide-eyed and irritated. Loosening one paw from his death-grip on the seat, (his claws may have torn the vinyl a bit) he nudged his friend's knee. "Hey you," He called until the flushed face of Canada looked down. "Can I drive now?"

…oOo…

"So what are you going to do with all these stuffed animals?" Katyusha asked, holding up the multiple prizes from carnival activities. Ivan won the huge Siberian Tiger in the "Test your Strength" game; the whole hitting the mallet at its base and sending the weight to the bell at the top… yeah, Matthew figured Ivan would win that. Canada didn't want to even try. As a nation he could probably ring the bell, after all, this game was for humans, not personified countries, but the blond felt that it wouldn't have been right. It was sad that Matthew didn't share Alfred's superhuman strength.

The white Rabbit under Katyusha's other arm was won by the Canadian though. Russia had spotted a shooting game and harassed the boy into showing off his apparent skills in that field. Both stuffed animals were as big as Ukraine was, they practically smothered her as she held them close but she refused to let anyone else hold them. Matthew himself carried more toys from their victories in other games; he currently wore a brown furred hat that matched his jacket perfectly.

Ukraine's smile was wide as they left the park, walking to the Bentley in light steps. Matthew's happiness was just as apparent, the smile, the bright eyes, the skip in his step as he walked backwards to face her, "You can keep mine if you'd like."

"Really, Matvey?"

"Oui, of course."

Ivan 's mood wasn't as obvious, but his shoulders had long since relaxed, and the harsh lines around his brows and mouth smoothed into a more light expression. "You can have mine as well, сестра."

"Oh, thank you so much!" Her complete being radiated joy as she skipped over to hug her brother's arm again, the stuffed animals attempting to smother him as well. "We haven't had this much fun in a long time, little Ivan. I'm so happy."

A flicker of a smile crossed Russia's face, even as a fuzzy Rabbit's ear somehow ended up in his mouth. "I am glad, Katyusha."

"We should do this again some time."

_Again? Not soon,_ Russia hoped. The crowd, the lines, the stupid kiddy rides, the invasion of his privacy, there was only so much he could take! "Da, any time." Damn it, as if he could say that to her.

"This is only the beginning, Ukraine," Matthew chirped. "This is only the first day, you know? We have a whole month to do things like this!"

Whatever was left of Russia's soul died a bit. He groaned, "Get in the car." Matthew giggled, doing as he was told.

Ukraine put her stuffed animals in the trunk and slipped into the passenger seat, "I'm hungry, we didn't eat lunch today."

Russia started the car, backing out of the parking space. "We'll pick something up, just no McDonalds."

Alfred's fast food chains really stretched around the whole world, Matthew mused, perhaps it was a secret plan of world domination? He giggled at the thought. _"Ha Ha! With Ronald McDonald as my sidekick everyone will become too fat to disobey my every whim. I command you to love me as your hero!"_

Ukraine's giggling form turned to him and Matthew flushed in embarrassment, suddenly realizing that he had said that aloud. "And what if we refuse, Mr. America?"

Still red in the face, Canada put on a small smile, "Nonsense! You can't refuse Hamburgers!"

Russia rolled his eyes, "Нет, I'm sure I can."

Matthew leaned forward. "Have you _seen_ Ronald McDonald? Alfred would use him to rape you in your dreams."

"I am not afraid of clowns, and I'm quite sure I would not be in any danger of getting raped by one."

Huffing in amusement, Canada shook his head. Wiggling the fingers of his uninjured hand, "He'll get you Russia, it's always the nonbelievers."

"I never understood you Americans and this fear of clowns."

"Have you seen the movie IT?" Both Russia and Ukraine shook their heads. "Well, it's a scary movie about clowns that a bunch of kids would watch and then forever be scarred for life. It's stupid if you watch it when you're older, but it frightens little kids pretty bad apparently."

"I want to see it Matvey." Katyusha said with a smile and Matthew nodded, saying something about borrowing it from Alfred.

They drove in peaceful silence, a welcomed atmosphere after the hustle and bustle of the Amusement Park. It had gotten dark outside before they left, and the air cooler. They could see their breath in the stale night but none of them minded the cold.

They stopped at a quant diner along the way, heading inside to order a to-go meal that tempted them the rest of the way home with its aroma.

"I know what we could do," Matthew said once they got back to Russia's mansion. They had set their food on the table, and were munching away happily. "Have any cards?"

Blinking, fork halfway to his mouth, Russia gave Canada an unreadable look. "You want to play a card game?"

"Yeah, it's too early to go to bed, too late to watch a movie. Let's play… Poker."

Russia's blank look turned into an evil smile, showing straight white teeth, "Poker?"

"Loser has to answer questions, no matter how personal." Matthew stated.

Russia's smile faded, eye narrowing in suspicion. "What?"

"No questions about classified information, obviously, but anything else is free game."

Leaning back in his ornate chair Russia's eyes gleamed intensely in the low lighting. "We bet our secrets," He clarified. _Very clever Matvey._ "Fine." He conceded, and the rest of the short dinner was finished in anxious silence.

Ukraine took her time, possibly the only one in the house who was not looking forward to the new form of entertainment. Nevertheless, no matter how much she tried to stall, the three nations eventually congregated in the living room, surrounding the coffee table where Ivan placed a single stack of playing cards on the glass surface. His smile was creepy and he glanced at the Canadian to the right who sat on the floor, leaning against the couch behind him comfortably. "I never lose this game, comrade Matvey."

Surprisingly, the blond threw a smile back, "Neither do I."

Katyusha shrank into the cushions behind her as the atmosphere heated up, as it had done many times during the day at the park competitions. It was amazing that they were so stubborn in beating each other at the most trivial things. _Men_, she wondered.

…Thank You…

Wow guys, I was so sick last week, no joke, just… Ugh. Anyway, thank you for being patient, though I believe I'm shortening my deadline a bit, two weeks is a long time, I end up procrastinating. I need something to keep me going though. Hm…

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the update. Thank you for all the reviews and favorites and alerts. I love and cherish each and every one. Don't forget, if you have any fanarts, send the link to me and I'll post them both here, and on my profile (I'm starting a separate little piece for this story on there). Until next time, Love ya!

Fanart by Muziie on her deviantart channel: http:/ aquamarineninja. deviantart. com/art/Fanart-for-a-fanfiction-Hur-156943553 (remove three spaces)

Translation:

Сестра (Russian): Sister

Все готовы к возвращению обратно на Землю? (Russian): Everyone ready for the drop back to Earth?

десять, девять, восемь, cемь, шесть, пять, четыре, три- (Russian): Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three-

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not Hetalia, countries, Ronald McDonald (I don't _want_ to own that clown, trust me), or any movies mentioned. Do I also have to say I don't own the Bentley industry? Yeah, I thought that was kind of obvious. NO.


	11. Jeu: Game

Chapter 11: Jeu: Game

A tense atmosphere hung over the three nations sitting in the living room. An invisible weight had settled on their shoulders and no matter how relaxed their positions seemed to be, they were far from comfortable. Ukraine kept fidgeting, looking back and forth across the table at the two men locked in a staring contest, four cards held protectively in their hands.

There were colored chips in front of them, standing in for fake money though they made bets just as they would if it were real. White chips for 1 dollar, red for 5, green for 25, and black for 100-dollar transactions. A small tower of this symbolic currency stood in the betting pool on the table, watched carefully by the ones who placed them there. Their faces were serious, lips shut tight, and eyes hard, each determined to win the pot.

However, none of the players were concerned with the chips they could win or lose, but the information the victor could come away with. Whoever won this hand would be granted a single question that had to be answered with all honesty, no matter how personal, and rest assured; there were many secrets a personified nation would like to keep. Each one at the table held a hint of anxiety, but their own curiosity kept them there as all three had questions they would like to be answered. Who could pass up such a chance to get into ones history, untold by the textbooks?

Katyusha, dubbed the dealer, took a deep breath and reached across the table to flip the final of the five community-cards face-up. King, Ace, Five, Five, and Ten- she looked at her handheld cards, knowing she had to use exactly two of her own and three cards from the table. She didn't have much of a hand going in terms of order, but two cards, a seven and three, were of Hearts and there were three cards on the table of the same suit. She couldn't believe her luck, a Flush!

A bright smile lit her face even though she tried to hide it, it wasn't wise to look so happy in a betting game, but the other two didn't seem to be paying much attention to her anyway.

"Show of hands, Matvey." Ivan spoke, his tone condescending. As Matthew was at the left of the dealer, he was obligated to go first.

A wrinkle in his brow told the players that he wasn't particularly happy, but he brought his hand down for the others to see. "Two pair." He stated. With a matching pair of Jacks in his hand and the two fives on the table he had a decent play.

However, Russia's evil smile told everyone at the table that he had beaten that, "Three of a kind." The cards he showed proved his words and Matthew let out a huff. "I win."

"Um," Ukraine's voice was low, because she didn't really want the attention her victory would bring her, as she was also afraid of how her brother would take the loss, she always feared his temper.

Matthew was probably the only one to hear her, as his voice was as much of a whisper normally; he smiled a bit, obviously bitter about his loss but trying to be a good sport about it. "Go on Ukraine."

Russia turned to her to watch her cards as well, but by the wide eyes and slack jaws of both men, it was clear they did not expect her to be the winner. A wavering smile stretched her thin lips, "Flush. Sorry boys."

Russia's face remained a surprised blank but Canada outright laughed. "Awesome," He pushed the small pile of betting chips her way. "You win a total of seventy-five fake dollars and one question."

"O-oh," She took the chips, added them to her pile, and fiddled with the cards, gathering them up to make a full deck again. In her mind, she was thinking about the kind of question she would ask, she had so many; some were darker than others, but she didn't want to cause a scene and by taking advantage of the situation. Peeking under her bangs at her brother, she wondered if he would really answer any question given to him truthfully. She had asked before, but he usually avoided anything that was too personal. It was sad; they were siblings and yet, she didn't know much about her brother's childhood before they had met, which was in the 13th century.

She didn't quite remember the date, but the events of that day were still fresh in her mind. It was cold and the clothes she had on had barely fit her that winter. Her people's crops were to be doing fine that year, but money was still scarce. She was nothing but a territory at the time, controlled by Kiev and known only as the Principally of Galicia-Volhynia. Normally her land would remain isolated; her people left to do their work in peace, but the threat of the Mongols was too great a fear. Their people needed to work together in order to survive the more frequent invasions.

_She huddled closer into the fur blanket around her shoulders, trudging through the deep snow with the rest of the men who had come along for the journey across the border. Their breath was visible in the cold air, puffing from their chapped lips in clouds before being rushed away by a fierce wind. It was with great relief that they finally made it to the small village they were to discuss alliances at. The wood, stone, and straw made homes were tempting; the interiors would at least keep the wind at bay and the fires- oh would she love to sit in front of one._

_Wisely, there were no people in the streets unless serious work had to be done; many people were snuggled together in their one-roomed huts, cuddled closely to the fire for warmth. Galicia's group quickened their pace, following their leader; a man who thankfully knew exactly where to go as they hurried into a particularly large building meant to serve as a tavern, shoving the door in place behind them._

_For a few moments the group could only breathe, looking around to make sure they left no man behind and getting used to the sudden absence of so much action. Outside where the noise of the wind and snow beat a symphony into one's head, and the glare of the sun against the snow threatened to blind. It was completely opposite here, in the quiet hut where the wind was but a soft howl and the light came from a few candles placed on rickety tables._

_A name was said from the other side of the room and the leader of Galicia's group replied with a hoarse, dry voice, recognizing the seated men at an unstable hardwood table. She traveled over with the rest of them, sitting down thankfully and being introduced to the men her people would be working with for each other's safety. _

"_And you must meet the land we hail from, Rus."_

"_We" being more than one controlled territories that had formed an alliance. Rus was known as many things, ruled by many people, spread across a lot of land, and he held a lot of power. However, the male presented before her didn't necessarily fit that reputation. He was smaller than she was, and younger as well (she was probably in her teenage years). _

_About the height of her chest, pale blond hair (almost white), and deep violet eyes; Rus looked at her and gave a stiff nod for a greeting._

_He had a child's face, and from a distance, he seemed like a normal little boy. However, it was upon closer inspection that the little noticeable details threw that image off._

_First of all, despite the cherub cheeks and the big eyes, the boy didn't smile; he looked very disciplined sitting high in his chair, back straight and eyes roaming the room cautiously. Kids his age would be running around, fidgeting, and playing with something, or talking to people. This boy barely spoke at all!_

_When Galicia was small she did the many things a human child would have; talked about boys, giggled, played house, sew, learned how to cook- she was always ready for new friends and not too concerned about her responsibilities as a representative of the land and people. The first time she met another like herself (Poland) she was excited, curious, happy, and talkative. This boy was none of those things. In fact, after that short acknowledgement he practically ignored her for the rest of the evening._

_Throughout the meeting he listened diligently, never moving from his seat and he did not speak unless spoken to. His eyes gave nothing away and his voice was tightly controlled, low, harsh, and serious. It was interesting the way all the adults paid so much attention to every word he said; to observers it must have been humorous watching a child being taken so seriously._

_Galicia didn't get the chance to speak to him properly until after the business was settled. She walked right up to the boy as he placed more wood onto the tavern's fire. "Hello," She began, pausing as she realized she didn't know what to talk about. The boy turned his blank face towards her, the violet eyes shining a haunting red and gold with the fire light. Galicia tried to put on a comforting smile. "I'm also known as Yekaterina. Do you have a human name?"_

_He blinked, the flickering shadows on his face were menacing, and Galicia looked to the ground, rubbing a hand over her dirty cheek absently. "I am known only as Rus, Novgorod, or Vladimir."_

"_Vladimir is a human name."_

_His eyes narrowed, "I do not want to be called Vladimir."_

_The boy's hands tightened into fists and he stood to his full height, towering over her as she had kneeled down before. Galicia was quick to throw her hands up in defense, scrambling backwards to put distance between them, "I won't call you that then! Rus is a beautiful name."_

_He watched her carefully for a moment before he was convinced she told the truth. The threatening stance relaxed somewhat and he turned back to the fire to continue stoking it. Galicia stayed on the floor, shaking in fright. For a moment there, she had seen the devil in Rus's eyes._

That was their first encounter. In a time before technology; before anything more advanced than a sword had been created, she and Russia had been together. Their relationship back then certainly had little to no similarities when compared to a real human family. They were supposed to be siblings and yet, it was more of a beneficial agreement for each of them that they remain together than actual love.

Over time Russia's demeanor toward his "elder sister" had changed into more of a friendly aura. Ukraine had taught him how to cook cultural meals like Borsch, and when he came to her with questions on their jobs as representatives, she was happy to answer. However, there were times, far too many in her opinion, when Russia would disappear for days, weeks, sometimes months at a time and he'd come back with the most horrid of injuries, remaining absolutely silent about their origins.

Then there were times where a simple topic of conversation would turn him into a cold, cruel, sarcastic character with wild, angry eyes. His temper was to be feared; destruction followed him when something did not go as planned, whole rooms were trashed, slaves whipped, horses and livestock killed. After these crimes were committed Ukraine was always reminded that the little boy she cared for was more like a demon; a possessed child with red-violet eyes unafraid of murder, unaware and unconcerned with just how much pain he caused.

Things changed slightly as time went on, the people changed, and so did their leaders. She watched him rise, grow strong, step in to shoulder his responsibilities, and yet, his madness only grew with the need for power. His demonic nature had developed a purpose: to destroy everything that stood in the way of his leader's goals- killing all those who defied his word.

Ukraine was swept under his wing along with Belarus and the Baltic States. She was protected by his might and yet the thing she ended up fearing the most was he himself. Unlike in the past where she could only guess at just how cruel her little brother could be, she now had a front seat pass. The blood he shed, the people he killed; Ukraine could no longer feign ignorance- she saw his crimes; saw his face. He never cried, he _slept_ without guilt and she simply couldn't understand.

She was afraid- would he treat her with such cruelty? If one ever asked her such a question, she could answer without hesitation, _yes_. He could, and he would.

Or at least, she had thought so, up until her independence. She had left his unbearable household with the intent to start over, to forget, to become her own, _to get away from Russia_. Even if _he_ slept peacefully with the blood on his hands, she didn't. She would lay awake at night terrified of the things she had seen him do for the "greater good."

Determined, frightened and convinced that he might very well force her to stay at his side with brutal threats; she declared herself a nation and raced back to her land; a place she visited often and yet did not live on while in Russia's care. The moment her vehicle crossed the border into her own she felt free, happier than she'd ever been.

Russia, for some fortunate reason, did not fight to keep her; in fact, Russia's boss even wished them luck! It… was a surprise, yes, and Katyusha's elation had seemed everlasting.

However, it was with great sorrow that she found her nightmares continued, her fear of Ivan remained. When the time came that the two finally had to meet once again, Ukraine couldn't help but keep as much distance between them possible. She spoke to him only as much as she needed to; called him brother, and when the situation called for it, she showed her affections.

Over the decades, she slowly allowed herself to work closer to him- but subconsciously, or maybe intentionally, she remained detached, a lingering doubt in her mind said that he hadn't changed, that he was still the same man who killed with pleasure.

"Katyusha?" A hesitant voice asked from beside her and she jerked into reality with wide eyes, suddenly realizing that she had been shuffling the cards in her hand for the past five minutes. Both Matthew and Ivan were looking at her expectantly.

"Oh! Yes, I'm sorry, my question," She forced a laugh of embarrassment from her suddenly dry throat. The laugh faded quickly, as it wasn't real in the first place, and she looked to the cards thoughtfully. She knew what she wanted to ask, "Have you ever been in love?"

Canada blinked, a light blush covering his cheeks. He looked at both Ukraine and Russia; the former was steadily avoiding their eyes and the latter seemed to be a bit disturbed. The Canadian sighed, taking the initiative and going first, "I've always loved my family; Francis, even though he's a bit… affectionate. And Alfred's not bad, for all his faults, he's a great elder brother. Arthur's a little cranky and hard to get along with but he's always treated me with respect." He took a breath, and then continued.

"All my step brothers and sisters, I love all of them too, even though I don't see them as much. Hong Kong, Australia, Seychelles," He didn't think he needed to name all of them, his extended family was long. His cheeks turned a deeper pink, "I've had a few crushes too."

Throughout his little speech, Ukraine had slowly looked up until she was able to lock eyes with his and smile, "Who, Matvey?"

"Um," Oh jeez, this whole trade information thing was his idea; the least he could do was confess his secrets like he said he would. It was just so embarrassing though! His gaze lowered to the table, his face burning as he fidgeted with the makeshift splint on his hand, "Prussia and… you."

Katyusha smiled, a blush on her cheeks, "Thank you Matvey, I'm very flattered."

Canada mumbled something under his breath, glad that was over, and peeked up to look at Russia. He looked worse than before, glowering at the table with a tight jaw. Matthew didn't know if it was because of the question, or the fact that Canada had just admitted to liking his sister. Either way, that glare should have definitely set the wood on fire with its intensity.

At least the conversation earlier in the amusement park had helped, who knew that forcing Russia to admit his love for his sister would happen twice in one day? But it seemed like Ivan was going to be stubborn again. He simply sat there, lips sealed in a thin line; an oath of silence. Canada could sense Ukraine's despair build the longer the held his tongue.

Discretely shifting his leg so that Ukraine wouldn't see, Matthew struck out at Ivan's shin, giving it a swift kick that Russia immediately responded to; a big hand grabbed the Canadian's ankle and a dark violet-eyed glare was sent his way. Despite the fact that his leg was now trapped in the devil's clutches, Matthew sent a glare of his own, his lips moved, mouthing the words "Tell her" and punctuated it with a "now" look.

Russia's dark expression didn't change but be finally opened his mouth to speak, "I… love my sisters."

Katyusha looked to him in shock, eyes wide and jaw slack, "R-really, brother?"

He sighed, resigned to his fate, "Da. Я тебя люблю."

Canada's glare fell away into a grin, _I love you_ in his own language meant so much more than it did in English. Ukraine must have thought so too, because her eyes began to water and tears slowly started to run down her cheeks. She lunged across the table to envelope her brother in a hug. "Я тебя люблю." She repeated, crying and laughing at the same time, burying her face in Russia's large shoulder.

Ivan looked pained and unsure of what to do, remaining unresponsive until Matthew gave him another kick. Bringing his arms up to wrap loosely around Ukraine's waist Ivan sighed and spoke to her in his own language, comforting her in low tones. She pulled back after collecting herself and gave a wavering smile, taking a tissue from Matthew has he offered it. "Sorry, I just… Thank you, Ivan, for telling me that."

"I have not said it often, сестра," He frowned. "But that does not mean I do not- love you."

She smiled brightly, "It's just, we have been so distant lately; ever since my independence we don't talk much. I thought you were mad at me."

"Нет." He answered. A wavering hand rising up to fix a piece of her hair that was out of place, and tucking it behind her ear, a miniscule smile curving his lips slightly; a real smile, not deceivingly childish or cruel, not a smirk, not a grin- a simple smile that he rarely ever showed.

Canada was struck by it as he observed on the other side of the table, filled with a sense of accomplishment as the two siblings shared their moment. Staring at Russia, Matthew couldn't help but burn the picturesque scene in his mind. _The monster can smile_, he thought.

He knew for sure now, that Ivan Braginski could be saved.

"Okay! So, how about another hand at poker, huh?" Ukraine asked, grin on her face, with bright eyes that sparkled with remains of tears and happiness. She hadn't felt so happy in years.

Russia looked relieved, the small smile fading away as the moment passed, "Da."

Ukraine passed the cards to Canada; he would be the dealer this time. He shuffled them quickly, passing them out until each of them had four cards. They picked them up, looked at their hand, and the first round of betting began, chips migrating from their hands to the center of the table. Matthew picked up the deck again, dealing out a three-card flop in front of him; the cards face up and clear to the other players. More betting. Another card joined the three, the Turn. Finally, the fifth card, the last.

Matthew grumbled in French, he had a pair; that was it. What a horrible hand, considering the other two probably had better luck.

Russia went first, "Straight."

Laying his cards on the table, he pointed out his order. 4-5-6-7-8… Matthew would say he won, but he'd learned from his lesson the last round and looked to Ukraine, not counting her out yet. He hoped she won, for he didn't want to think about what Russia would ask.

"Nothing." She called with a small sigh, placing her cards down and pouting a bit. Overall, she didn't bet too much this round and the loss didn't hinder her spirits one bit.

Canada pouted as well, showing his cards and admitting defeat. Russia smiled, fake and childishly cruel- Matthew noted that it wasn't nearly as beautiful as the one before. "I want to know who the first to find you was."

Matthew thought as he gathered up the cards, wondering why Russia asked that particular question. He gave a little laugh, "Well, the Natives of my land were the very first. They found me by the Hudson Bay in Manitoba. For a long time it was just Kumajirou and I, we lived there by ourselves. He hunted food for us, kept me warm. My first time meeting a human… was not a successful one; they feared the polar bears while I loved and treated them like family. It was slow but eventually we got close, they took me in, and taught me how to speak their language. They were nomadic tribes so we moved with the seasons." He paused for a moment before continuing.

"There were others; the Vikings passed through, and some explorers from Italy too but I never met them. We were in Québec when Jacques Cartier arrived though- one of France's. He was nice; very polite and flashy in everything he did. His crew met with my tribe, France himself came with them. He knew what I was immediately as you can always sense the difference between nations and humans. They stayed for a long time, and France taught me so much before taking me back to his country with them. I became his colony and learned all I could before I was passed on to England."

He gave a bitter smile at the memory, France and he had been close, truly as father and son. When his lands were suddenly given to England, Matthew couldn't help but feel betrayed. As a nation, his people were not too concerned, as long as they were able to keep their language and culture, being England's colony was not too bad of a change. However, Matthew, the human part of his soul, despaired, worrying about his father figure suddenly disappearing and a new, stricter one, taking his place.

It would be years before Matthew saw Francis again and while England and America were both great company, they didn't hold the same diversity he craved. They couldn't speak French, neither of them could cook (going from restaurant level meals to charred remains was the most difficult thing to adjust to in Matthew's opinion) and their mannerisms, their humor, it didn't fit. _Matthew_ didn't fit.

Katyusha laughed, "I was founded by the Kiev's," Ivan already knew all this of course, but she didn't mind sharing the information with Matthew. "A woman named Yulia raised me, taught me, and treated me like her own daughter before anyone realized what I was. It was kind of obvious when I didn't age and obtained wounds whenever a tragedy befell the lands."

Russia's turn to deal- he shuffled, passed out the cards, and betted. Canada took a deep breath, looking at his cards carefully. Seven-Seven-Ten-Five, so at least he had a pair. He looked to the cards on the table, Four-King-Seven… The sevens count as Three of a Kind. He needed another pair on the table.

Russia turned the fourth card up. _Two._

_Merde_, He cursed, the last card would be his only chance. Canada bet twenty-five dollars in plastic chips, sitting back to wait until Russia's hand reached for the last card. Once it was face up, Matthew barely contained his joy. _King_, he had a Full House.

Ukraine smiled at his victory, Russia looked disgruntled. Canada just plunged on, "As a person, what is your greatest fear?"

Sighing, Katyusha shook her head, "I suppose… war, strife, the death of my people. It's hard to separate our nation and human emotions. Their fear is our fear. But if there was a selfish fear I'm able to have, it would be to go without love."

Russia cradled his chin in his hand, leaning on the table in a bored fashion, "Being alone."

Matthew blinked, frowning a bit, "I thought you liked being alone?"

"Нет, I like quiet, I like it when people do not make a nuisance of themselves, but I do not like being alone."

Smiling a bit at this new information, Canada nodded.

"What about you Matvey?" Ukraine asked. She had no authority to ask the question as she had not won, but she was curious and Matthew didn't seem to mind.

"I fear being forgotten." He confessed easily, it wasn't exactly a secret. As it was, he felt like people wouldn't notice if he suddenly disappeared. Would there be people at his funeral? He didn't want to think otherwise; he hoped that at the least Alfred, Francis, and Arthur would come. Shaking his head slightly to get rid of the depressing thoughts, he watched as the card deck was passed on to Katyusha.

Deal-Bet-Call… Russia won again.

Leaning back languidly, Ivan's eyes hardened even as a smirk displayed on his mouth. "You are a virgin, aren't you little Matvey?"

Sputtering in shock, Matthew practically choked on air as he stared wide-eyed at Ivan. "W-What? N-No! I've had sex before, bâtard!"

"With who?"

The red heat of his embarrassed blush spread from his cheeks to his whole face, "Her name was Juliette-"

"A human," Ivan interrupted. "Does not count."

"Yes it does."

Russia's smirk only grew, "Were you satisfied Matvey?"

Matthew closed his eyes tightly, "Do we have to talk about this?"

"Da, I asked the question, you have to answer, those are the rules."

Canada remained stubbornly quiet for a few moments, but it was clear that Russia would only wait until he caved in. Ukraine said nothing either, a hand in front of her mouth as if to say "oh my" and a red blush on her cheeks as well. Matthew opened his eyes slightly but avoided the others eyes. "N-non, I wasn't satisfied, but I still _did_ it, I'm not a virgin."

Russia hadn't had enough though, "Have you had sex with any of the nations?"

"N-non," Matthew repeated.

"Then as far as anyone is concerned you're still a virgin."

Canada started to get angry, "That's not fair, Russia, why does it matter if I haven't done anything with other nations?"

The Russian waved off the comeback, "Have you ever had sex with a man?"

"You're asking multiple questions!"

"Answer Matvey." Ivan exclaimed with a cheerful face, but there was an underline tone of irritation.

The blond huffed, "No."

Suddenly, Russia was laughing. He threw his head back and let out a string of chuckles; it was cold, cruel, sarcastic laughter, but it was still a sound people did not hear often. "You are thousands of years old and have not yet had satisfying sex with anyone worth mentioning."

_The difference between France and Canada had gotten incredibly larger_, Russia mused. France had raised the boy, but for all his flare in the field of "l'amour" the lewd attempt to fuck anyone who looked interesting apparently did not pass over to his dubbed son. _No wonder the boy is so optimistically ignorant and prude._

"S-shut up," Matthew whined, thoroughly embarrassed enough to last a lifetime. "You know, maybe I'm just careful about my partners! I am not going to go around and sleep with a bunch of women or men for a _good time_. If I do it, I want to do it for love."

If anything, that sentence made Russia laugh harder, and with every chuckle Matthew felt worse, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking into the cushions behind him. Katyusha reached over and placed a hand on his forearm, "It's alright little Matvey, I have not had many partners myself. I think it's great that you've been saving yourself for someone special."

The laughing fit eventually rolled to a stop and Ivan shook his head, "Matvey, just _who_ are you attempting to save yourself for? It can't be a human, for obvious reasons, so that leaves the nations. I doubt a new nation will be born any time soon; so you're stuck with the choices you see now. If what you said before is true, you're either waiting for Prussia or my sister."

Katyusha squeaked, face reddening; Matthew looked worse though, "I- I don't know." He glanced at Ukraine with fearful eyes. "Just because I have a crush on them doesn't mean I'm saving myself for them alone. But… I just- I have to like them before I'd ever allow myself to have sex with them. Is that so wrong? Why are you so condescending, Russia? How many partners have you had?"

"I've had plenty," He answered cryptically. "France was rather romantic about things; he wanted the foreplay, instead of just getting straight to the act. China tried to be dignified and secretive about it, and yet moaned so loudly I'm sure everyone knew in the end. England was quick, no play, no questions, no doubts, just getting it done, and leaving. America," He paused, smirking as they locked eyes across the table, Matthew's jaw was slack, eyes wide at the information Ivan was giving. "America cursed and insulted me the entire time, but the way he rutted against me, moaning my name- it was clear that he enjoyed it. I did too."

"A-alright, I don't want to hear this!"

"Yes you do, Matvey," Russia objected. "None of them were _special_, or something I would _save_ myself for. It was simply a need for release, a pleasurable meeting that meant nothing. It was the same on their end. For us, there is no _special_ relationship, Matvey. We live however long our countries do, and that is a long time. It isn't logical to think in terms of 'does he love me' when our allies could turn into our enemies so soon."

"You're different than me," Matthew stated obviously. "I couldn't treat everyone with such disrespect."

Sighing, Russia looked tired of this conversation. "Matvey," He said seriously. "If you are looking for the perfect match where there are two _soul mates_ to last to the end of eternity, you will be very disappointed for there is no such thing."

"So you say. Finland and Sweden are together, I doubt they go sleeping around with everyone else. They're married; they live a nice life together, in _love_. And Germany and Italy, they're not together yet, but they love each other, and they're saving themselves in hopes that they're not so… _dirty_ when they do get together. Is it so impossible to have something like that?"

"Da. Those nations are in specific situations-"

"Non," Canada interrupted. "Just because you don't believe in love or having a _single_ partner in your life does not mean you can ridicule me. It's not silly to think that I want to cherish the person I give myself to- because it's not just sex. I will _trust_ that person, and I will treat them with the respect they deserve." Matthew paused to look inquiringly to Ivan, "What if you had a partner like that, one who wouldn't just leave after you're _finished_, but would stay with you. If you were lucky enough to have someone like that, they would be here, taking care of you when you're sick. Doing things that you couldn't do on your own, and all they'd expect in return was the fact that you would return the favor if the same happened to them. You would never be _alone_ then."

Picking up the vodka bottle next to him, Russia took a swing, enjoying the burn as he swallowed, "I suppose that will never happen then." He didn't look like he wanted to discuss this anymore, a bitter smiled crossed his face, "There are many things I will never achieve, Matvey. A lover would be at the top of that list." He set the vodka bottle down with a clunk. "Now, it's your turn to deal, da?"

Canada took the cards from Ukraine, wary about the way Ivan had simply admitted that he'd never have a lover, as if he believed himself… _incapable_. Sure, Ivan was a demon at the worst of times, scarier and more intimidating than any he'd ever seen before- and Matthew had only heard _tales_ of what the man could really do. But Matthew also believed that people could change- there was no such being that couldn't be loved or be incapable of loving.

Russia loved his sister, so it was entirely possible for him to love someone in a less platonic way. It was just a matter of wiggling into that cold _removable_ (he'll never forget that) heart of his; it would take someone strong willed and defiant to put up with and care for the Russian.

Whoever sought out Ivan Braginski's heart would have a long, difficult road- but it was possible, and it would be worth the trouble Matthew hoped.

If that ever happened, Canada would be sure to chirp an "I told you so" before running for his life.

Katyusha cleared her throat politely, "Well boys, you can continue to play but I'm tired." A yawn punctuated that fact. "Good night."

Both men at the table bid her a good night's sleep, watching her walk up stairs to one of the guest bedrooms (Matthew had offered his, since it was bigger, but she had refused). "Matvey," Russia called happily, the childish smile on his face. Matthew gulped at the dangerous undertone. "I believe this is the moment where I say, should you chase after Ukraine, I would not be pleased."

Leaning away a bit even though a blush stained his cheeks, he shook his head, "I don't think I will."

Ivan tilted his head slightly, "But you like her, da?"

"Oui, but our relationship is great as it is, I don't want to lose her friendship because of a little crush; I don't think she likes me back."

Ivan hummed, "You mean a lot to her; I do not know if she _likes_ you but…"

Matthew saved him from the uncomfortable conversation and shuffled the cards, "A few more hands before bed?"

"Da."

Kumajirou shifted from his resting place on the couch behind them, giving a large yawn as he stumbled down to the floor. Waddling sleepily to the recently vacated place of Ukraine's, he sat down, "I want to play."

"Ok, Kumanemo," Canada said brightly.

Russia looked confused, leaning over slightly to speak to Matthew in quiet tones, "Your bear knows how to play poker?"

The blond smirked, "I'm not sure if he understands the game or not, but he has good luck and it's better to just give him what he wants anyway."

Ivan looked like he couldn't care less but he gave Kumajirou a weird look as if he couldn't believe he was playing a card game with an animal. He couldn't even hold the cards! With no thumbs, the bear just used his nose and paws to flip them over.

The game went uninterrupted though and the polar bear seemed to know what he was doing when he bet fifty dollars in plastic chips. In the end it was Canada who won the round. He put his cards down and gave a smile, "Tell me something nobody else knows about you."

"That is not a question Matvey."

The Canadian huffed and rephrased his words, "What's something that no one knows about you?"

Looking up to the ceiling in thought the large man took another gulp of vodka, "I like to fight."

"People know that, it's obvious."

"Is it?"

"Oui."

"People don't know I do it all the time though," He said. "There's this bar on the other side of

town, very shady place. They have a basement made specifically for illegal brawls."

"You go and participate in this?"

"Da. It's usually very fun, though not much of a challenge. It's very, as you say, therapeutic."

"I bet," Matthew mumbled. "You don't… hurt them bad, do you?"

Russia shook his head, "Нет."

"Bon." Canada felt a bit relieved, though he worried about this little hobby of Ivan's. At least he seemed to get out of the house, Matthew had started to wonder if the man's regular day consisted of sleep, work, and eating rarely. This activity might not be wholly approvable, but it was something.

Russia's turn to deal, Kumajirou almost felt asleep on his cards, Matthew won again.

Taking a deep breath, because he worried that this question may garner a particularly violent response, he asked, "Why do you wear the scarf?"

Seeing the shoulders tense, and the violet eyes narrow, Matthew prepared himself for whatever might come.

"Scars," Ivan answered stiffly. "What, you didn't see those when you attempted to bath me?"

Shrinking back, he replied in a soft voice, "I wasn't looking, Russia. I was rather panicked at the time. You were … well, it was frightening. Katyusha was the one who bathed you anyway, I tried to stay out for your privacy and-"

"Fine, just be silent," Russia sighed. There was a moment of consideration before he set the vodka bottle down on the table and raised his hands up to unwind the pale scarf. It blended in nicely with his long sleeved black shirt, the dark colors contrasting well with the white scarf and the white skin of the Russian. The cotton fabric slid off easily and he put it safely in his lap, leaning back so as the light could shine on his neck.

Matthew shifted forward to get a better look even though the aura coming off Ivan made him shiver. He could see a twist of scar tissue, the pigment not of the same color as the rest of Ivan's healthy skin. The top of the marred skin reached as high as the man's ear lobe, and from the looks of it, circled the entire neck. The skin looked raw, with raised, uneven lines. Canada tried to eliminate the causes of such a mark. Fire? It was definitely a possibility, but to expand all around the neck without spreading upwards? Unlikely.

"Why do you hide this," Matthew asked. Scars were common in personified countries, they were guaranteed to show up with every battle, every war, treaty, bomb, natural disaster. Their lands were their bodies, a mark on the land, was a mark on them. That being said, every nation held scars, it was expected, it was… honorable, because it meant you had experience. It was your nation's history.

For Ivan to cover it up; to be so secretive and touchy about it, the mark had to be either shameful or excessively horrible. "I do not want to see it," He answered. "It reminds me."

Matthew left it at that, smiling a bit at the way Ivan hadn't made such a scene. He wouldn't pry into something that held so much meaning to the Russian, though he was very curious to know and he hoped to get to the bottom of it sometime. Perhaps by the end of the month.

"If we were human, what would you do, Matvey?"

The question seemed so random and Canada blinked in surprise. "Um, I suppose I'd just have fun. Watching humans waste their lives away over little things, I could never understand that. If it were me, I'd definitely live it up."

"Do you think you'd have a wife and kids, a house, a job?"

_Where is this coming from?_ "I'd like to think so. Although, I haven't had so much luck in the love department obviously, and I've already lived for so long. One hundred years to find what I've been looking for all my unnatural long life? Unlikely."

"What kind of job would you have?"

Laughing a bit, Matthew grinned, "Why all the interest, eh?" Ivan just continued to look at the ceiling, tilting his head to the side slightly. "I'd like to be a teacher," The blond admitted. "What about you?"

"I don't know," Ivan replied. "I'm not good at very many things. Something to do with fighting, perhaps."

"A professional fighter, a bodyguard, an agent, a cop- eh, scratch that, I can't see you being a cop." Ivan finally looked at the Canadian, interest in his violet eyes. "I see you as one of those pimped out bouncers at a hot club, all decked out in a suit with that scowl on your face. You'd have so much fun breaking up bar fights and throwing out the people who try and get in when they're not supposed to." Matthew laughed at the image, because it fit so well. _Ivan would look good in a suit_.

"Anyway," Canada shook his head to get that picture out of his mind _"Are you under twenty __–__one? If you are… I'm going to have to escort you out."_ A yawn broke his sentence; he looked over to see Kumajirou peacefully asleep. "It's late, we should get to bed. Dreaming about being human will get us nowhere; we are what we are, and even though it comes with horrible consequences at times, I wouldn't trade my life with anyone else. Our people depend on us. Can you imagine anyone else taking such a job?"

Humming in agreement, Ivan gathered up the cards as Matthew collected chips. "I do not trust anyone else with my duties as a nation."

"Exactly."

Once everything was put away neatly, Matthew carefully picked up the sleeping polar bear and

cradled him close, although Kumajirou didn't even twitch at the movements. "Good night, Russia. Sleep well." He strolled to the stairs, climbing them easily and quietly.

Ivan watched him go, thinking about everything that was done today. He was glad to be alone, the company today was much more loud and energetic than he was used to, and he treasured the silence. Bringing a hand up, he ran it across his neck, feeling the tightened skin and shivering slightly at the contact.

"_No, please- don't make me!"_

His hand jerked away, and he quickly wrapped the scarf around the marred skin, comforted by the familiar texture and the snug closeness. Falling into an armchair, he brought his vodka up to his mouth, tilting it back and letting it pour down his throat. He chugged it, gulping it down quickly until he needed to breathe. _It wasn't fair_, He took deep breaths, a sense of panic overcoming him. _It's not my fault._ Leaning forward, he covered his face with his hand, hunched over and heaving with uneven breaths. _I tried. I tried so hard_.

"Go away," He whispered to the empty room- to the ghosts that haunted him. "Please," He begged. "Leave me alone."

It took time; minutes of harsh hyperventilated breathing, shivers of cold and the unyielding bite of memories, many gulps of alcohol until the whole bottle that was full, was completely empty. When he regained control of himself, wrestled the flashbacks of his childhood back into the recesses of his mind, and returned to the present. He stood slowly, stumbling his way down the hall and into his room.

Blindly, he unbuckled his dark leather belt, pulling it from his pants and throwing it to the floor, unclasping the folds of his brown pants, he pulled them down and left them where they fell. Next came the shirt, reaching over his head, he grabbed the fabric and pulled it over, tossing that too, onto the carpeted floor instead of the hamper that rested next to his dresser.

Standing in nothing but cotton red boxers and his white scarf, he pulled back the covers of his bed falling on it with a grunt of appreciation. The cool covers felt good on his heated skin, the various marks on his body extra sensitive to the texture of the high quality threaded sheets. He didn't care about those scars as much as he did the ones on his neck. He wasn't ashamed of the ones on the rest of his body, he didn't fear them, didn't try to hide them.

The white scarf made him a little too warm to be comfortable; it was stuffy and hot, but he didn't dare touch it or attempt to remove it. Staring at the ceiling, laying on his back, he slowly fell into a fitful sleep.

"_You're mine now, little Rus."_

…Omake…

Both Canada and Russia stared, looking back and forth between all the cards on the table, back to the furry little animal who, if it were possible, would have been grinning slyly. Kumajirou… with a Straight Flush, the highest hand possible, had just won the whole pot of chips and a single question. How very strange.

Leaning forward, the white paws made a grab for the plastic chips, pulling them to his side of the table. "I win. How much?"

"U-um, three hundred dollars, Kumahoro."

"Who?"

Neither answered him, for they were too shocked to answer. Russia just stared as Kumajirou sniffed the chips, taking one into his mouth before making a face and spitting it back out. _I just lost… to a bear._ He suddenly had the urge to slam his face into a very hard surface. Instead, he sucked up the anger and self-pity and cleared his throat, "Do you even have a question?"

The polar bear looked up, the black eyes shining with curiosity and interest. They turned to Canada, and the animal tilted his head to the side cutely, "Are we becoming one with Russia?"

For a whole second there was nothing but silence as the question processed and then… Russia threw his head back and laughed as he had before, teasing and sarcastic, with sick humor.

Canada's face burned a cherry red all over and he sputtered uselessly in both English and French. "W-What?"

…Thank you...

It seems like Kumajirou is the star of this story, so there is a quick laugh to destroy the angst Russia was showing before. Ha ha. I had incredible fun writing this chapter, so I hope you all like it! Review if you can, I'd appreciate it. All of you are awesome!

_Translation_:

Я тебя люблю (Russian): I love you

Нет (Russian): No

Bâtard (French): Bastard

Bon (French): Good

Non (French): No

Oui (French): Yes

Da (Russian): Yes – Да is the actual spelling, I know.

_Disclaimer:_ Don't own it! (flail)


	12. Реальный: Real

Chapter 12: Реальный: Real

Almost immediately upon waking, Matthew sensed the day was not going to be in his favor; his neck had a creak in it that wouldn't go away; Kumajirou had decided to sleep on his face, so the white fur practically smothered him, and the animal needed a bath, because his smell was not exactly pleasant. His stomach growled, his entire body had an ache, and he did _not_ want to wake up.

Unfortunately, Matthew's body refused to allow him to sleep any longer; he tossed and turned, moved Kumajirou, who didn't stir from his peaceful slumber (the lucky bear), and tried to sleep just a little bit more, but it was impossible. Finally through with fighting it, he got out of bed, shivering at the loss of heat. The clock on his nightstand read 5:30; it was much too early to be awake, even for an early bird such as himself, especially considering how late they'd all gone to bed. Sighing as he stretched, he decided to go down to the kitchen and fix himself a glass of warm milk. Warm milk usually put him to sleep. Warm milk with honey… yum.

In nothing but his thin flannel pants and long sleeved shirt, he quietly walked through the silent halls and down the stairs. Once in the kitchen, he kept the light off, just in case, though he doubted it would wake anyone. He pulled out a mug from one of the cabinets, took out the milk (the refrigerator light practically blinded him), and filled it up before putting the jug back. Yawning, he placed the cup in the microwave, thankful that the noise the machine gave off wasn't too loud, and stopped it before the shrill beeps sounded.

He took out the honey from the pantry, looking at the label thoughtfully, it was in Russian of course, but he still didn't recognize the symbol, so it wasn't imported from his country. Opening the cap, he took a small sniff and when he could make no distinction, he poured a bit onto his finger to test it on his tongue. "Not bad," He murmured. "Not _real_, but better than America's."

He was generous with the amount he put in his milk, and he stirred it up with a spoon languidly, smiling he brought the mug to his lips and took a tentative sip, mindful not to burn himself. It was nice, and he could already feel the comforting warmth along with the sweet soothing taste. He turned around, mug in both hands to take advantage of the heat, and barely kept himself from leaping three feet into the air when he saw a figure in the entryway to the kitchen.

"Oh," The milk sloshed a little over the rim, and burned his hand a bit. He shook it with a hiss, "I'm sorry," He whispered. "Did I wake you?"

The figure didn't answer and Matthew squinted to make out who it was in the dark, the hair glistened almost white in the moonlight coming from the little window over the counter, but the stature was shorter than Russia. In the shadows, Matthew could make out a thinner body, more feminine. "Russia?" Matthew asked.

The figure moved, and something else glistened in the light, this object was easily recognizable with its smooth reflective surface: steel. It was a knife. Matthew instantly knew this was not Russia, because for one, Russia wouldn't attack him like this (without just cause… well, he would assume) and he would use his pipe, not a blade. Ivan seemed like the beating type of killer, not a slasher. For obvious reasons, it couldn't be Ukraine, not unless she had a murdering hobby herself, of which he seriously doubted.

Very calmly, Matthew cleared his throat and asked, "Who are you?"

The threatening person responded, but it was not in English. Matthew cursed under his breath: so he had a break-in (apparently a woman with her soft voice) who held a knife and couldn't communicate. How was he supposed to tell her that what she was doing was a very bad idea if she didn't understand him?

He tried anyway, hoping his soothing voice would convince the attacker that he was not a threat, "Look, this is not the place for you. You should leave quietly; I do not want to have to call the cops." _Or worse, the owner of the mansion you think you can steal from._

How did she get in anyway? Matthew remembered Ivan saying there was an alarm system set up to monitor the windows and doors when activated, to notify him of any intruders. Nobody but Ivan himself knew the password to the keypad in the hallway, not even Ukraine, which was why they weren't allowed to open any outside doors until Russia had turned it off. So how was she _here_?

Keeping close to the counter, Matthew didn't take his eyes off the shadowed figure and that knife as he moved slowly to the other side of the kitchen, closer to the bar. If need be, he'd have an escape in jumping over the counter and sprinting to Russia's room. "Please think about what you're doing, if you leave now, you won't get hurt."

It was sudden, the way the figure flew at him from at least a ten-foot distance, knife gleaming high in the air as the woman brought it down. Matthew barely had enough time to duck, the steel made a small ringing sound as it connected with the granite tabletop. With quick thinking, he threw his cup of milk at her so that the scalding liquid hit her face. It probably wasn't hot enough to leave burns, but the heat did shock her, and she let out a screech of pain and fury.

Blinded but not deterred one bit, she turned around with the weapon to strike another blow. Canada leaned back, practically bending his spine to impossible levels to accommodate the counter, the sharpened metal passed over his face harmlessly. Raising his right leg, he gave a sharp kick to the attacker's abdomen, sending her across the kitchen and into the refrigerator heavily.

Showing his flexibility (the result of his fanatic sportsmanship), he used the momentum of his own kick to flip over the bar, landing on the other side and turning swiftly, sprinting across the living room and down the short hall, shoving Russia's door open to the right and slamming it behind him.

He looked for the lock, finding it just above the handle- it was a huge deadbolt, thank _dieu_ Russia was paranoid enough to have such a thing on his bedroom door. He turned it quickly, setting the bolt just as something rammed into the wood with force on the other side.

Watching the door carefully, a little afraid that the iron security lock wouldn't hold (_humans can't break that can they?)_ he backed away slowly, body tense and eyes wide as another _bang_ originated from the doorway.

This time, he really did jump in fright as a large hand grabbed at him from behind, covering his mouth and nose. A strong arm wrapped around his chest, restricting his arms as they flailed instinctively and the broad chest against his back kept him from twisting out of the constricting embrace no matter how much he struggled.

Hot breath brushed against his left ear and a low voice that sent shivers of fear down his spine whispered to him, "What do you think you are doing, little Matvey?"

The voice was deep and familiar and once the irrational fear faded away Matthew finally recognized the Russian behind him. He stopped trying to escape and the hand around his mouth slowly removed itself.

"There's a psycho-chick in your house." He squeaked out his reply.

"What?"

Another bang at the door, followed by a low pitched scratching sound like fingernails on wood. Matthew could feel Russia tense and he tilted his head to see the normally harsh violet eyes widen in something like shock then declining into despair. "Брат," Came the woman's voice from the other side of the door, and Ivan sucked in a quick breath that Matthew could feel against his back.

"Нет," He whispered. "Not her, please." Canada blinked, mouth opening slightly in surprise, _Russia knew her?_

"Брат! Вы там? Женитесь на мне!"

As if he'd been burned by those words, Russia jumped back, letting go of Canada completely and nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. Turning to the dresser, he started pulling open drawers and gathering together clothes. Brown pants were pulled up, a white T-shirt thrown on; he fixed the scarf that he still wore from last night. Clean white socks were tugged onto his feet; he did a funny little hop to keep balance.

Canada just watched, glancing from the panicked Russia (a sight that frightened him to tell the truth), and the Russian words being murmured by the woman in the hallway. "Женитесь на мне!"

He didn't understand those words but they sure as hell were creepy sounding, he shifted over to Ivan, "You know her?"

"My sister, Belarus." He answered, his voice almost a whisper, as if he was afraid she would hear across the room and through the walls.

Canada gasped, "_Belarus?_"

Russia lunged for him, wrapping a large hand around his mouth to cut off any more words. However, it was too late, she had heard. "Brother Ivan! I hear that boy in there, what are you doing? Open the door, let's get married!"

Canada felt the large man shudder, and his violet eyes couldn't get much bigger. What? … _What?_

"Marry me Ivan! Marry me!"

Looking around frantically, Russia sank to the carpet, looking under his bed. He came up with a pair of boots, a coat, and something that jingled slightly before he winced and grabbed them tightly to stop the noise. "I'm leaving. Just wait until she finds out I'm not here, she'll calm down then."

"I'm not staying here," Matthew protested. "That woman tried to stab me!"

Ivan gave him a sarcastic look, "She tries to stab everyone but me and Katyusha."

"Oh, well that makes it okay, I thought she was just insane," He answered back, voice dripping with sarcasm. Russia didn't dignify that with an answer as he laced the boots on his feet while simultaneously trying to shrug his coat on. "You're seriously running away from your sister?"

He looked offended, "It's not like I'm… scared of her." Seeing Canada's unconvinced face, Ivan elaborated. "I really… _really_ don't want to get married. Ok?"

Raising an eyebrow, Matthew asked, "Then why don't you refuse her?"

"You don't think I've tried that," The way Ivan said it, to anybody else; it would have been called a whine. Yes, the great Russia was getting desperate for ways to keep his little sister away. "She stalks me, screens my calls, and sends spies after me. I'm not surprised she knew my security alarm password, it usually takes her a week to crack it."

Once he was sure he was ready, he crossed the room to one of the big bay windows and pushed the dark curtains out of the way. He unclasped the lock and pulled the glass up silently; the slides were oiled enough not to squeak, he had made sure of that the last time he had to use it to make a quick get-away.

He only got one leg over the sill before Matthew grabbed his arm, "Are you crazy? You can't just leave!"

Russia shook his arm until Matthew let him go, "Goodbye, little Matvey, perhaps if you beg for your life she may spare you."

Bending over to squeeze his large body through the opening, he dropped the few feet to the ground, boots crushing the snow underneath. Standing up, he looked wearily around, hoping his sister didn't enlist any of her government officials to watch the premises if he tried to escape (she'd done it before, after all, it wasn't as if those men had _work_ to do). Trying to keep quiet, he stayed close to the walls of his house, hoping he could make it to the garage and speed out before Belarus picked the lock on his bedroom door.

He suddenly heard a squeak behind him as well as harsh breathing and muttered French. He turned to look at Canada who had followed him outside. Scowling, Russia reprimanded him, "You are not coming with me."

Matthew sent a glare of his own, arms wrapped around his torso to keep some heat in his body. He was in nothing but thin flannel and he was barefoot, in the freezing cold! To top it off some woman was chasing him with a knife who apparently wanted to marry Russia… who was terrified. "Who said I wanted to come with you," He asked grumpily. "I'm not staying in there to await my doom." He started to walk, hissing a bit with each step into the biting snow. "Fuck, its cold. Move, you big coward."

He pushed past the stunned Russian and jerkily walked around the house, muttering all the way, "My neck hurts, I wanted that warm glass of milk, I almost got stabbed, this bastard thinks he can just run, it's freezing out here, and it's not even six o'clock yet!"

Ivan said nothing, trailing behind the angry Canadian, listening with amusement and looking around for any more visitors. They got to the garage doors where Ivan lifted the metal up easily and Canada darted through into the slightly warmer abode. His breath visible in the cold air, Matthew jogged across the freezing concrete, maneuvering around the vehicles to stand next to the door to the house. Something stopped him from going inside though and he turned around to watch Ivan.

Reaching into his pockets, the Russian brought out what had jingled merrily before: a set of keys. Walking to the side of the garage, he took hold of the sleek black Ducati Matthew had been eying all week, kicked the stand up with a booted foot and wheeled it easily to the open space of the driveway.

Ivan's large legs straddled the machine, and he tugged on a dark black helmet, matching the bike's paint, over his white hair. The dark tinted visor was down, hiding the man's face from view. Leaning over the machinery to take hold of the grips, Matthew couldn't help but let his eyes roam and acknowledge the fact that Russia… looked good on that bike. His large form handled the motorcycle with familiarity, the strong arms and legs held the heavy vehicle up easily.

When the machine started up, it purred, not overtly loud and roaring like other motorcycles. The Ducati didn't need all the extra noise to get attention, it was flashy enough by itself, and when Russia accelerated, Matthew could already see how smooth it handled. The helmet covered head looked over to him and nodded to say farewell and Canada called out a, "Don't stay out long" as the Russian sped out of the garage and onto the driveway.

They seemed to be made for each other in that instant; Ivan's thick body and the bike's sleek metal: they both held so much power, both dark and dangerous, both fast and ferocious. Matthew wondered what it would be like riding on the back of that Ducati, Ivan at the wheel; 170-horse power, 100 plus mph. The speed, the danger, nothing but luck and skill keeping them from crashing: the thought thrilled him deep inside.

The motorbike took the Russian past the estate gates and onto the road, taking Ivan along and out of sigh. When the noise of that beautiful purr faded away so did Matthew's daydream. Blinking, he was suddenly reminded that it was below freezing outside as a breeze swept passed him, causing a shiver to cascade down his spine.

There was a loud screech from the dwelling behind him and he turned just in time for the door to swing open violently, the wood slamming into his face and sending him crashing to the ground with a yelp. On his back, with a hand holding the left side of his face, he moaned in pain, searching for any breakage in his face or glasses. Teary eyes turned to see who had hit him and he watched as the psycho- _Belarus_, he reminded himself – stood dejectedly in the drive way. "Brother!" She screeched, her voice high pitched and loud. Not like he could hear her, he was long gone by now.

Struggling to sit up, still holding his throbbing face, he opened his mouth to speak but was once more floored by the door swinging open _again_. This time it made contact with his left side, throwing him back to the concrete, and then, as if he wasn't injured enough, he was _stepped _on by a panicking Ukraine in a rush to see what was going on.

She tripped herself as her foot caught on another body; barely catching herself in time. When she looked down to see Matthew she was obviously worried, apologetic, and a little concerned as to what he was doing there in the first place. "Matvey, are you alright?"

He waved her off with his free hand, "Fine, fine! Don't worry about me, eh?"

"What's going on?"

"Uh," He was finally able to stand up and once he did, he shifted away from the door, just in case, although everyone that was there had now congregated in the garage. "Your sister is here and… Ivan said he needed to go somewhere."

"So early?" Katyusha asked, wondering what business he could have possibly had at six o'clock in the morning, and while their sister visited too, what a coincidence.

"Where is he, you tramp? What did you do," Another screech was heard and a knife was suddenly in Matthew's face, waving dangerously. Wide violet eyes stared up into dark blue, almost black orbs, sparking in anger and jealousy; her bangs clung to her forehead, damp with the milk he had thrown at her.

Now able to see her properly in the lighted garage, Matthew could admit she was pretty; long white hair, flowing black dress that suggested nobility and manners. During the meetings he'd seen her in; she always sat quietly beside her siblings, hands in her lap, a stony expression on her face. She usually spoke in cool tones, looking apathetic yet polite.

Canada hadn't had much involvement with her or her nation but he never expected her to have this kind of side: violent and intimidating. Strange, she was such a small girl in comparison, but there was a terrifying aura about her that could only be rivaled by Russia.

Actually, Matthew kind of thought she was even more terrifying than Ivan… But that would just hurt Russia's pride to hear that, so he wouldn't share that information.

"Where did he go?" She asked menacingly, shoving the knife closer. Ukraine protested in the background.

"I don't know, he didn't t-tell me."

"Lies!"

"Sister, please, calm down. Matvey is a friend, and I am sure little Ivan will be back soon."

With a scowl on her face, she looked beseechingly to Katyusha, "But I almost had him sister, we were going to get married today!"

"How lovely," Ukraine commented, smiling a bit. "He will not be gone long. He is to take Matvey to the market today."

Those angry eyes were instantly focused on the Canadian again, "Why would he take such a pathetic boy anywhere?"

_Well,_ Matthew thought, _Excuse me._

"Matvey, or Canada, is little Ivan's friend. I believe our dear brother is taking a vacation; Matvey is staying a whole month and they have many things planned! We went to the amusement park yesterday. You should have been there, Natalia, it was fun!"

Dark blue orbs widened in surprise, "Brother is taking a vacation? With _him_?" The knife jabbed as if to point to Canada and the blade nicked the side of his cheek.

"Ow," Matthew whined in a soft voice; nobody heard him.

"I believe so, sister," Oblivious to the girl's despair and anger to know this kind of information, Ukraine smiled happily, further digging Matthew's grave for him. "Ivan is showing Matvey around Russia, they're going to Spasskaya Bashnya together, and the markets, and even hiking for a week!"

The knife in front of Canada's nose started to waver, the slender fingers turning white with such a tight grip as the thin figure shook in restrained fury. "They are doing this alone?"

_As in, a couple,_ Matthew filled in the unasked question. He wanted to answer that this was certainly not a romantic endeavor but his jaw dropped as Ukraine gave a grin, nodding enthusiastically. _Did she not understand what she just implied?_

"N-no, it's not like that at-"

Belarus practically threw herself at him, throwing the blade to the side, and wrapping her arms around his throat. Before she attempted to squeeze the life out of him, Canada used his superior strength to pick her up around the waist and toss her back. She fell heavily onto the concrete and a part of him felt guilty for hurting her; first he threw hot liquid on her, then he kicked her into a refrigerator, and now he threw her across the garage. Matthew had never struck a woman before; he did his best to remain a gentleman, nice, understanding, and comforting.

Then there was the fact that this was not only a fellow country, but also the little sister of both Ukraine and Russia, hurting her was absolutely out of the question, not that he wished to anyway. However, as the wild woman stood, looking as if she would attack him once more, Canada was out of options: it was either run, or take it like a man and let her dish out her rage, hoping he would survive the encounter.

Like a wise and brave man… he chose to run.

Scrambling to his feet, he twisted around, opening the door to the house and slamming it behind him. There was no time to look for the lock, Belarus was already at the handle, and so he sprinted as quick as he could past the kitchen and to the foyer, running up the staircase, taking them two or three at a time. The enraged woman's screams echoing through the empty house as she followed him.

Making it to his room, he launched himself inside and closed the door, leaning against it to keep it shut as he searched for some kind of lock. A daunting paleness came over his face when he realized there was none.

Something heavy ran into the door, threatening to throw it open, and Matthew pushed against the force. Back against the door, feet spread apart and locked into place, he tried to take deep breaths and steady his heart.

"Who?"

Matthew opened his eyes and saw Kumajirou at his feet. "Belarus is trying to kill me! Go get my phone, quick."

Despite the poor animal's confusion at all the commotion, he scampered off to the nightstand where the phone sat off to the side, picking it up in his mouth. The plastic had small marks where his teeth had pressed too hard from before. He returned it to his Canada who yelped as Belarus tried to push at the door again.

Going through the list of contacts, he found the one titled "Russia" and dialed it. The ringing lasted a good minute, which made the Canadian even more aggravated- he _knew_ that man had his phone, he saw him put it in his pocket before he sneaked away like the coward he was.

"Привет. Я не могу прийти к телефону прямо сейчас. Пожалуйста, оставьте сообщение, и я ответить."

What was this, an answering machine? A beep sounded through the speaker and the blond growled.

"Oh, you _asshole_," He started his message. "Thanks a lot for leaving me behind to get stabbed repeatedly. Just know that I have another thing over your head now, I'll send her your way, visit your _wedding_, and laugh in your face, jerk."

Another slam at the door, Matthew dug his feet heels into the carpet to keep the door closed. "I'm haunting you Ivan Braginski!"

He flipped his phone shut and glared at the red plastic as if it were the Russian and he was burning him alive with the intense look. "What did you say, you hussy?"

Matthew turned his dark glare to the wood he leaned against trying to see past it and set Belarus on fire as well. "I called your dear older brother! He said he was on the plane to America now!"

"What," She screeched. "Why would he go there?"

Thinking about his own elder brother and his relationship with Russia, he realized there wasn't a very good reason Ivan would go there (he was such a bad liar that was the only thing he could think of). But then… involuntarily, the information Russia revealed to him last night came to mind; that he'd had sex with his two father figures and his brother.

He winced, horrified and disgusted at the knowledge that they'd been so involved. France he could understand, but England, despite his sexual endeavors in his home country (more politicians had been caught in dirty acts than he'd ever seen before), Matthew honestly believed the man would know better. Perhaps chose his partners more wisely.

Alfred… well, Canada was still a little numb, he couldn't exactly process the fact that his brother, _America_, would willingly have sex with _Russia_. Didn't they hate each other? He was pretty sure they did. So how did those feelings of hatred breed into a spontaneous bout of intercourse? The image of his elder brother moaning submissively under a "ready to go" Russia did not- _at all_ -compute in his brain. It made no sense whatsoever.

"To have a good round of _hate-sex_!" Oh god, did he really just say that? The image made him shudder in revulsion. He would definitely confront his brother about that sort of thing when he got home.

Ugh! Maybe he didn't want to know!

A gasp sounded from the hallway; Belarus believed him, "Absolutely not! I will not allow this! That American bastard will not touch my husband, Ivan is _mine_."

He heard her footsteps running away and traveling down the stairs and Matthew slowly straightened up and cracked open the door to look around. From down in the foyer he could hear the two sisters talking. "Natalia," That was Ukraine. "Where are you going? You just got here!"

"I must travel to America! Do not worry, sister, I will be back very soon; that tramp upstairs will not go unpunished!"

Canada gulped, fearing what kind of punishment she would attempt to dish out. The front door slammed and Ukraine's light footsteps came up the stairs until they were able to lock eyes. She smiled slightly, "I apologize for my sister's behavior. Regarding little Ivan she gets particularly excited."

"A-ah, it's alright," His violet eyes closed as he tried to ground himself. "Does she do this often?"

"Oh yes, every month or so. She is very persistent."

A chiming ringtone sang from the phone in his hand, an orchestra blaring from the little speakers strongly: New World Symphony, fourth Movement. It was the first ringtone he came across that reminded him of a certain Russian when assigning tones to the numbers in his contact list. It was something he had done when bored.

Quickly flipping the phone open and cutting off the music, he placed it at his ear and growled, "Yes, I'm still alive if you were wondering."

"Oh, good Matvey, I was very worried." That was sarcasm Matthew sensed in the light, fake voice, and he didn't appreciate it one bit.

"She's gone now, you bastard. So you can come home with your tail between your legs."

"What did you say to her?"

"I told her you went to America." He wisely left the reason out.

A thoughtful hum from the receiver told him that Russia was not convinced, "I give her a few hours before she comes back."

"So what do you plan on doing? You can't possibly stay gone; I'm not waiting here forever."

A sigh, "I will come back now, and take us out for the night. If we are not here when she gets back, hopefully she will just leave."

"She knows we're going to the market today, Ukraine told her."

A bit of irritation seeped into the Russian's voice, "Well then we will not go to the market! I have another house further east; perhaps we can go there and stay the week."

Canada stayed silent for a few seconds, "Are you seriously going through so much trouble to avoid her?"

"You ask that after she tried to kill you?"

True, Matthew would have to make sure he stayed as far away from her as possible now, "Well… she's not trying to kill you."

"She's forcing me to marry her!"

"Is that worse?"

"Much worse, as much as I care for my sister she's very…"

"… frightening?"

"Da."

"Well so are you, isn't that, like, a match made in heaven? You can scare little children together."

"Matvey," That whine returned to his voice. "I don't want to marry her!"

"Okay, okay! But running to a safe house is a bit much, don't you think?"

Silence from the other line. It was like Ivan honestly believed that it was perfectly acceptable to go to such lengths. "Russia…" Matthew reprimanded.

"What," The man exclaimed, defensive, "It is a good idea!"

"Just come back here, we'll discuss this at the table," He immediately hung up after that, smiling a bit at Ukraine who had stood at the stairs listening. "I'm going to get changed."

"Oh! Right." She was still in her pajamas as well, a relatively short nightgown that hung down to her knees, showing her long legs and hugging her slender frame to accentuate her large assets. Canada blushed, shutting his bedroom door and falling face down onto his messy bed.

He could feel extra weight on the mattress and he groaned, "Kumaro, this is the worst day ever."

A white paw patted his shoulder comfortingly, "It just started."

"I know, it's going to get worse isn't it?"

"Probably."

"Why do you have to be so honest about it," Canada whined. "Can't you lie and say no?"

"No."

Matthew got up, grabbed a pillow and threw into his bear's face, "Smart ass, take that."

Kumajirou attacked the offending object, clamping his jaw around the case and shaking his head, pulling it from Matthew's hands with a swift jerk. "Hey," Canada protested, a smile flitting across his face as he reached for it. The animal jumped from the bed, pillow in his mouth. Matthew followed, starting to laugh as he snatched the end of the fluffy fabric, pulling back.

Boy and animal played a game of tug of war, laughing and growling, tackling each other and wrestling until a loud _rip_ filled the air and both of them paused in the sudden cloud of feathers raining down on them. "Oh no…" Canada whispered, knowing Ivan would not be happy to find out what they had destroyed.

Kumajirou looked at the light feathers, crouching down like a cat would before he leaped into the air to attack the white fluffs. Despite his sudden guilt, Matthew laughed and once more tackled his friend burying his face into the animal's fur and making playful growling noises.

…oOo…

Ivan walked through the door quietly, looking around for any sign of Natalia, just in case that annoying Canadian had decided to trick him. His silver pipe was held in his right hand, ready to be used against any attacking Belarus. Oh, he wouldn't dare to hit her with it, but should she try to hug him to death he at least had something to push her away with.

"There you are!" He jumped, barely holding back a yelp as he backed against the wall, half-expecting a long haired bringer of death with a knife exclaiming "let's get married."

He practically sank into the wall with relief at seeing Ukraine in the living room, wiping her hands on a towel. "Is she here?"

"Belarus? No, she just suddenly left. Pity, isn't it?"

"Da," _Thank god_, "Very sad."

Katyusha smiled, walking over to give him a welcoming home hug, "You should have told me you had business so early."

He didn't answer, not sure how he could explain to her why he left. Letting him go from her embrace, she turned to the stairs, "Matvey, Ivan is back!"

A door opened and a polar bear came scrambling down the stairs. "Food," He shouted, passing by the two siblings who made room for his little body. Matthew came down in less of a hurry, but he was panting as if he had run a mile. "That bear- has so much energy."

He was dressed in blue jeans and a dark blue shirt, a black sweater pulled on and hair brushed. He stopped in front of the two siblings, trying to catch his breath. Russia looked at him, a bit amused until something caught his eyes. Frowning, he leaned forward to pluck what looked like a white feather out of the boy's wavy hair.

"What is this?" He asked, and Matthew's sudden posture convinced him that something was wrong.

"Uh, we might have made a bit of a mess…" Narrowing his eyes, Ivan opened his mouth only to be cut off by Canada's sudden glare. With his hands on his hips, Matthew looked like he was ready for a lecture, and he was about to have at it, "Don't you even dare. You can't insult me anymore, that was _completely_ irresponsible the way you took off like that. I'm not here to be a distraction for you. You deal with your own mess."

"I didn't-"

"Never mind, just know that when she comes back, _you_ aren't going anywhere," With that, the Canadian stomped off to the kitchen, answering the call of "food" with "Just a second Kumashi."

Ukraine put a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, watching Russia's shocked face. "You know, little Ivan, I'm so happy you've found a friend in Matvey. He certainly has a way with words, doesn't he?"

She ran off to join him in the kitchen. Russia just grumbled, angry at being scolded like some kind of child (even if Matthew had a point). "I'm not staying!" He called out, just to be difficult.

"Oh, yes you are!" Matthew replied not a second later. Thus, they went back and forth, throughout a small brunch and into the car, bickering and complaining all the way to Red Square. Ukraine only giggled; it was funny the way Matthew teased Ivan. He was not so afraid of speaking his mind anymore, and Ivan seemed to have lightened up. She could tell they were growing more comfortable in each other's presence.

Katyusha, for one, couldn't be more thankful to Matthew for all he had done. It was all because of him that she and Russia were speaking like a family again. Canada had brought them back together, whether he had planned such a thing or not. Without realizing, he was helping Russia already. Slight changes were already being made and things could only get better.

…oOo…

"Нет." Russia stated, leaning to the side of the wooden bench he sat on. Kumajirou and he were forced to stay there while his sister and the Canadian went into a store. Apparently, it was a hat store, judging by the articles on display and Matthew, liking the hat he had won at Gorky Park, decided to look at others.

They were in the famous GUM Department Store on the eastern side of Red Square, walking the halls and touring the shops. It was like a regular mall only this place held significance to the Soviet Union. It had been shut down to the public for many years, only available to Stalin's men working on the First Five-Years Plan to stabilize the economy. The roof was made of glass, letting in sunlight although one couldn't see through the layer of snow on top.

Souvenirs, relics, historical symbols, things that reminded Ivan of a time in the past were everywhere. He hadn't visited this place since it reopened in… what, forty years? It had changed a lot, and yet, in some ways it hadn't. The prices were still outrageous, crowds of people still covered the walkways, and the workers were still too pushy in selling their crap. He hated shopping.

Unfortunately, it seemed like Ukraine and Canada did not share the sentiment, because they immediately wanted to visit all the stores on each platform and every floor, dragging him along. "Cheer up, Russia," Canada had repeated over and over… Russia swore that if he heard that one more time his fist would make contact with the happy blond's face.

Somewhere along the way, they had found an ice cream stand in which the two overly excited countries demanded a cone and Matthew had exclaimed in an offended voice "you don't have maple flavor?"

Did the boy make it a point to criticize everything he found in need of a change?

So there he was, with his own vanilla ice cream cone, waiting for the girls (with the way that annoying boy acted, he might as well be classified as one) to finish browsing aimlessly. The polar bear next to him kept getting closer, black nose twitching and pink tongue flicking out to taste the cold treat Russia held further away. "I'm not giving you this."

"What's-his-name doesn't have to know."

"It's _my_ cone!"

"Gimme."

"Нет!"

"I don't understand that, it means yes?"

"It means no, you insufferable animal."

"Yes."

Growl.

"Russia, try this on." Canada came from around a stand of clothing and hats, holding one in particular up above his head. It was a black officer hat with a felt like tilt and a hardened bill. It had an emblem on the front: leaves shaped to either side like wings surrounding a star. A sickle and hammer in the middle.

Ivan glared at it, "Why?"

Canada blinked, a little surprised at the hostile tone. "Have you worn one like it before?"

"Of course."

"Then… do you regret it?"

"I don't."

"Well, you shouldn't be ashamed of putting it on then!" Ignoring the irritated glare, the blond walked over and slipped it over the white hair, smiling as he did so. Smoothing the ruffles out of the coat at the Russian's shoulders, he stood back and looked the man up and down. "Not bad. With that glare on your face you look just like I imagined you would," He grinned, "Although, the ice cream kind of throws it off."

Ivan grunted his annoyance, but otherwise left it alone, continuing to eat his cone. "It looks good," Canada's statement made him pause, looking up with a strange expression. Matthew was spacing out (he did that a lot, didn't he) again, eyes glazed over in thought. "You just… seem like the kind of guy who looks good in a uniform." Canada focused in on him. "You act like you have a lot of experience in the military. I mean- of course you do, but… more than usual. It's not just during war."

Nodding slightly Russia tilted his head a bit, "I've been very involved in my military. In peace as well as war."

"What do you do?"

"Train soldiers usually. I would teach them how to fight, how to handle weapons, toughen them up."

Matthew sank down into the seat beside him, placing Kumajirou in his lap, "You don't do that anymore?"

"Нет, I can only do it for so many years before the soldiers wonder why I do not age. Eventually I drop out, wait until a new generation replaces the old, and begin again."

Playing with the polar bear's ear, Matthew wondered, "Do you like it?"

"Training them?" Russia asked, at Canada's nod he agreed. "Da, I feel as if my skills are put to use there. I feel at home in a fighting ring."

"Well then… will you teach me?"

Ivan almost choked on his ice cream, looking at Matthew with wide eyes, "Teach you to fight?"

"Oui, you say that you love fighting and that you're good at it. If it makes you happy, I want to see, I want to know you. That's why I'm here, eh?" Russia just stared. Matthew lost a bit of his courage. "What? Do you think it's a bad idea?"

"Da."

"O-oh…"

"You will probably suck horribly."

"What?" Matthew exclaimed, surprised and irritated.

"But who am I to deny the pleasure of beating you to a pulp when you ask for it?"

"I-"

"Do you really wish for me to teach you?" The tone was serious and the violet eyes focused on Matthew's, "Because I will not tolerate you slaking off."

Blinking, Matthew shook his head, "I wouldn't. I know it's important to you. Whatever you teach me, I will take to heart. I'll try my best! One-hundred percent! You won't be disappo-"

"Da, I get it, stop rambling." He finished his ice cream cone, trying to ignore the begging black stare of the polar bear in Matthew's arms. "We'll start tomorrow morning before breakfast."

"Bon," Matthew stood, sending Kumajirou to the floor as he lifted his arms up in a cheer. "Can't wait," he said, and with a grin he reached over, taking Russia's hat off his head and placing it on his own. With a playful scowl on his face, he stood rigidly straight, feet together and arms behind his back. He said in a fake Russian accent, "With training, I will be strong, like bear."

Bursting out laughing, Canada turned around, calling for Katyusha as he ran through the store, a bright grin on his face. Russia didn't move; he was staring blankly at the space Matthew had stood in, the image of the Canadian in his officers hat, was… attractive.

On the other side of the store, Matthew sat the hat back where he had found it, thinking about the Russian wearing it and acknowledging that Ivan in such a thing was definitely an image he didn't mind staring at.

Sighing a bit, he looked up, staring out the display window to the shop on the other side of the walkway. It was some kind of bookshop… Matthew loved books; it was one of his many weaknesses along with animals and pancakes. Looking around discretely, he noticed Katyusha gathering a few clothes, together and walking to the dressing rooms to try some on. Ivan still sat on the bench, talking to Kumajirou with a scowl; they appeared to be arguing over something.

Taking the chance, he walked out of the clothing and hat store, jogged across to the book department and hid behind its walls. He usually wouldn't be so sneaky, but there was something he wanted to look for here and if Ivan knew, well, it would be a bit embarrassing. Strolling around the shelves, he searched for a certain book, a bit concerned by the fact that everything was in Russian- _would they even have it here?_

"American, right?"

A voice sounded from behind him, and Matthew turned around to see a smiling man who supposedly worked here. "Ah… Canadian, actually," He was pleasantly surprised. "You speak English?"

"Yes I do, name's Evan. Can I help you find something?"

They shook hands, and Matthew blushed a bit, embarrassed with his request. "Matthew," He introduced himself. "I'm looking for a book on the Russian language," He whispered it; as if afraid someone would hear.

Evan blinked but the smile never left his face, "I believe we have that." He lead the blond through the aisles stopping at a shelf in the back, and picking up a thick paper-backed book, he held it up for Matthew to see.

"It's in English," He said in a relieved tone. "Thank Dieu."

The man laughed, "Will that be all, then?"

"Yes, thank you." He paid at the counter, smiling and bidding the helpful man a goodbye as he walked out of the store.

Taking the book from the bag it was put in, he shoved it under his shirt, hooking it under the rim of his pants to keep it there. The thickness of the book made it hard to hide, but he pulled his black jacket closer, zipping up the end a bit.

Hurriedly returning to the clothes and hat store he left the siblings in, he meekly looked for the two, finding them walking his way, Kumajirou in Katyusha's arms. "Let's go Matvey!"

They hadn't realized he left and he smiled happily as they continued their stroll around GUM.

...oOo…

"You must have some kind of radio station that speaks English," Matthew said, leaning forward against Katyusha's seat. They were returning to Ivan's home after spending several hours walking around, not only GUM but also the Red Square itself. "I need contact with the outside world!"

Ukraine laughed. "There is one isn't there, little Ivan?"

"Da, but he doesn't need to know that."

"Hey!"

"You can go insane a little while longer-" He suddenly gasped, glancing at the radio in what looked like shock. Ukraine furrowed her eyebrows; Matthew sat up straighter.

"What?" The blond asked.

"They're talking about Hockey, some teams in the Olympics."

There was stunned silence for a few seconds until Canada squealed, reaching over to fist Ivan's coat, "What are they saying?"

"Something about a cancellation."

"A team?"

"Hold on." Tilting his head a bit, pretending to listen, Matthew waited, growing more impatient by the second. Ukraine looked out the window, trying to stifle her laughs for she knew the announcers on the radio were talking about traffic, not Hockey. She never knew Ivan to have such humor; it wasn't cruel or dark like many of his jokes.

"Well," Canada whined. "What is it? Tell me!"

"Uh, not good."

"Russia, come on!"

Ivan glanced back, a smirk visible on his face, "Never mind, I must have heard wrong. Seems like there's a wreak on the highway, we'll have to go around."

Canada frowned, before realizing the joke, "Oh, you jerk! I just about had a heart attack!"

"Pity you didn't."

Matthew rolled his eyes, and stuck his tongue out childishly in retribution as they pulled into the garage. Getting out of the car, he held Kumajirou close with one arm, opening the door for Ukraine with the other. "Katyusha, you're brother was being mean."

She giggled, "You have to admit, Matvey, it was funny."

Ivan shook his head, standing by the door with four bottles of vodka in his arms; ones he bought from a store on the way back, "Let's go, I need a drink."

"You're a regular alcoholic, you know that?" Matthew commented, following Katyusha and Ivan into the house.

As soon as Ivan stepped foot into the kitchen the light turned on and a chilling voice filled the room, "Where have you been, elder brother?"

Russia immediately tensed, eyes widening. He took a step away but a hand at his back stopped him.

Matthew, at his elbow, gave a weak smile, "Good evening Belarus. Will you be staying for the night?"

She regarded him with cold eyes, looking torn between confusion, anger, and disgust. "Yes, I will. Is there a problem with that, little boy?"

"N-non, just wondering if I should set another plate for dinner," He gave Russia a glance as well as a bit of a push. "I'll go make it now. Anything in particular you want?"

"Something light, I'm going to be in my study." For the rest of the night, if he could get away with it.

"Do I not get a hug, dear Ivan?"

Without argument, Russia embraced his little sister. Over his shoulder, dark blue eyes glared with all the malice she could muster in Matthew's direction, but when the siblings pulled apart, Natalia was all smiles once more. Ivan continued on to the library, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Canada meekly stepped into the kitchen, going for the cookbook in order to find something Russia would probably like. "You're going to cook?" A cold voice asked.

Matthew nodded. "Yes." He answered softly.

"Ivan's favorite meal is Borsch; I doubt you can make that."

"I-I have made it, just the other day."

"Sister," Ukraine interrupted. "Matvey is a wonderful cook. Ivan would not have let him in the kitchen otherwise, yes?"

Looking confused and a bit angry, Belarus huffed. "Well then, what will you cook tonight?"

"Um… This recipe looks good, Chicken Ptichki. Would Russia like that, Katyusha?"

"Ukraine," Belarus exclaimed. "Her name is Ukraine, you will call her only that!"

"Natalia, stop acting so childish," Katyusha scolded. "Matvey is a good friend of mine, he may call me what he wishes. Now," She started to pull Natalia's arm away from the kitchen. "Let our little chef cook. Chicken Ptichki is fine, Canada, I'm sure Ivan will like that."

The Canadian watched the two women head up stairs, probably to fix up the last of the guest bedrooms Russia had in his home. Letting out an explosive sigh, Matthew turned to get started on dinner, looking to Kumajirou who had watched the proceedings with a blank face. "She's more frightening than Russia." He confided in his bear.

"Who?"

"Belarus."

"I really don't like her," Kumajirou replied.

Matthew looked around to be sure there were no eavesdroppers, "I don't either, but let's at least try and be nice to her, eh? She _is_ Russia and Ukraine's sister."

Kumajirou blinked, long eyelashes distracting, "No."

He waddled off somewhere before Canada could question him on just what that meant.

The girls were still upstairs, when he had finished cooking, which he was thankful for; the last thing he needed was a dark glare at his back throughout his duties in the kitchen. Setting the table and getting everything ready, he went to the study to call Ivan to dinner first.

Knocking politely, he waited for the door to open or a voice to welcome him in, but all that greeted him was silence, and Canada's mind wondered. Why wouldn't he answer his door? – It was either because he was ignoring him, or he wasn't in there at all. _If he escaped out the window again I'm going to beat him with a hockey stick._

Opening the door and stepping into the library, his gaze swept the room, looking for the large Russian man, ready to unleash a stream of complaints in French. However, once his eyes took in the scene, his tongue promptly tied and whatever insults he had been armed with fell away.

Slumped against the desk, head cradled on his large arms, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady, was Ivan. Stepping closer, Matthew tilted his head to get a better view of Russia's calm face, smiling a bit at the serene expression but then frowning at the subtle lines underneath his eyes. He looked exhausted, like he hadn't gotten much sleep. Canada felt guilty about waking him, yet his hand timidly came up to rest on a broad shoulder.

"Russia," He whispered. "Wake up, please."

It was almost immediate, the way those eyes opened focusing on his face instantly. Canada was frozen in surprise and a bit of fright upon noticing Russia's eyes were tinted darker than usual, not just a violet but a burgundy red. With a blank face Russia stood, left hand snatching the blond's wrist in a grip that was getting a bit tight. "R-Russia," Matthew repeated, trying to stay calm. "Dinner's ready. You can sleep after we eat, eh?"

The conversation seemed to take him from whatever dark thoughts he had on his mind. Eyes lightening to a more normal color, Ivan released the boys arm and sighed tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose,

"Da, I'll be there soon."

"You haven't been getting much sleep, have you?"

"Нет," He opened his eyes, looking at the Canadian before him, a hand caressing the wounded wrist absentmindedly. The makeshift split caught his eye. "You can probably take that off now."

"Oh," Matthew agreed, it had long since stopped hurting; for a regular human such an injury would take a month or so to heal, but he was a nation, and the wound did not originate from any catastrophe on his land. It was healed by now. Still, he gave a slight pause before steadily unwrapping the gauze- or tried to, seeing as he only had one hand, he couldn't get the tie loose, it was too tight.

Russia rolled his eyes, stepping in to undo the wrappings himself. "You're pathetic."

"Hey, I didn't ask for your help."

"You would have taken forever otherwise." The bandages and splint were set aside and the Russian slowly bent the fingers back. "Does this hurt?"

"Non."

"How about this?"

"Non," He chirped, watching as the man steadily worked his injured fingers back and forth, looking for any lasting damage.

A bump from the door caught their attention and a mortified Belarus stood there, nails digging into the doorway unconsciously as she looked to their joined hands. Her voice was dripping with distain, "We will eat now. Come, brother."

Canada tore his hand away, whispering a "Thank you" before walking across the study and slowly, fearfully squeezing passed Natalia. Eventually, they had all congregated in the dining room where Ukraine already sat. Russia took the head of the table, with Katyusha to his right, and in the seat Matthew had been using, to his left, Belarus gracefully sat. She gave Matthew a glare as he sat on the other side of Katyusha, avoiding her gaze.

"I paid a visit to America today," Belarus started the conversation.

"Why?" Katyusha asked.

"I was told our dear Ivan was there, engaging in… unforgivable things."

Matthew cringed, poking around his side of salad with a fork absently. Russia blinked, wondering just what Canada had told her. "What kind of unforgivable acts, sister?"

"The sexual kind."

The blunt answer almost made Ivan choke on the vodka he had been sipping on. Wide violet eyes looked to Canada who shrank into his seat, a deep red blush on his cheeks. Ivan was careful not to show his smirk, "Why would I do such a thing?"

"It was the only thing I could think of!" Matthew cried out. "She was…" He looked to Belarus, "You were… I panicked; it was the first excuse I came up with!"

Chuckling, Russia tipped his glass back, vodka sliding down his throat. "You are a horrible liar, Matvey."

"I know this, shut up."

Belarus looked angry, opening her mouth to yell at the Canadian for telling her Ivan to _shut up_, but a deep baritone laugh stopped her. Russia was leaning forward, elbows on the table, laughing like he had last night at the poker game. Matthew puffed out his cheeks, red staining the skin and from across the table Ukraine gave Belarus a look; their conversation upstairs about why _Canada_ was here came to mind.

"_He's helping Ivan so much, sister. Since he's been here our brother is more carefree than I've seen him in a long time. Sure, he's not very happy yet but I really think what Canada is doing is-"_

"_No Ukraine, our brother cannot be fixed like he's broken. He will never be as happy as he was before…" A pause. "Vanya needs a wife; someone who will never leave his side. That is what I will be. This child you see downstairs is not needed!"_

"_You don't understand, Natalia. You haven't seen."_

Was this what her sister had been talking about? Surely, Ivan had laughed like this before, on rare occasions. This one was different though; it wasn't caused by another's pain and he was honestly _joking_ with Canada, teasing and talking. Her brother was never so outspoken, never so humorous… She glared at the table; _Vanya cannot be fixed. He may just enjoy the company, he's always hated to be alone. He still needs me, I can give him something Matthew will never be able to._

…Thank You…

A long one for you guys, and I've been excited about adding in Belarus (Five Tailed Demon Dog, I suppose this chapter is dedicated to you). So, I've set up a section on my profile for this story, right under my information; it will contain an organized listing of Fan-art links, pictures of Ivan's mansion (which I made on The Sims 3, because I'm a nerd), and anything involving this story.

Also, a shout-out to people who have been helping me with Translations, because I haven't mentioned them yet, and I feel bad; they correct me a lot:

FireHeart Alchemist: For Québécoise

RusCSI: For Russian

_Translation:_

Я сейчас не могу подойти к телефону. Пожалуйста, оставьте сообщение, и я перезвоню (Russian): I cannot come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I will call back.

Брат! Вы там? Женитесь на мне (Russian): Brother! You there? Marry me

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own GUM, Red Square, Vodka (oh, that's something I wish to own), and countries. Please don't sue.


	13. Défense: Defense

Matthew sighed in his sleep, rolling over to his other side, finding the warm furry body that was always there for when he needed something to snuggle with. He buried his face into the fur, wrapping his arms around the body and pulling himself closer, seeking heat from the small chill in the early morning air. He was not aware of the door creaking open or the shadow that loomed over him- not until a hand came up to snatch the covers off of his frame. Giving a small squeak at the sudden rush of cold air, Canada opened his eyes and sat up, confused and curious.

Moonlight shined on silver tinted hair and Matthew blinked away the sleep to focus on the large figure at his bedside. "Russia," He asked, voice heavy with sleep.

"Get up," The man commanded. "Be at my study in five minutes."

He stepped out of the room just as quietly as he came in and Matthew was left wondering if it was a dream or not. He looked to the clock, numbers a bit fuzzy without his glasses: 4:30. Was that all, he thought it was later than- _Wait, what?_

Four thirty in the morning, that was ridiculous, why would he get up at such a time? Flopping back on the mattress, he closed his eyes, curling around Kumajirou.

Russia, awake, fighting… He groaned. Huffing, he sat up again, reaching for his glasses and dragging himself across the room to his suitcase. He changed slowly, dressing in casual sweatpants and a plain T-shirt. In the bathroom, he brushed his teeth and threw water on his face, which woke him up a bit.

The house was quiet as he traveled down the stairs and to the library, opening it up to see Russia sitting at his desk in the dark. The computer was on however, and the light from the screen was more than enough to brighten the room. "You know," Matthew commented offhandedly, leaning against the doorframe. "When you wake up at this hour, it's no wonder you lose so much sleep."

"I usually sleep fine, waking at this hour does not bother me," The artificial light cast strange shadows on his face, like one of those tricks with a flashlight when telling a scary story; the man's cheekbones were highlighted and eyes dark.

Matthew was just too tired to feel intimidated though, "Then why aren't you sleeping well?"

Ivan gave a small amused snort, standing from the computer chair. "You're so nosy and curious even when you're about to fall on your face."

"'s too early," Matthew complained.

"It's the best time, don't whine," Russia said, moving across the library to a shelf of books on the other side of the room. Taking hold of a decorative statue on the wood, he pulled; the whole shelf giving way, swinging like a large door to reveal a room within. Matthew's jaw dropped. "Follow me," Ivan called, walking into the hidden room, expecting Canada to be at his heels.

Once he realized what exactly was going on, Matthew was quick to enter the new room, looking around in amazement. It wasn't too big of a room, but what it held- hell, it was like a full out training course. There was a bench press and treadmill in the corner, and bunch of weights along a wall, a climbing rope, pull up rings, punching bags… it was amazing. Canada started to giggle, "This is wonderful, but why did you hide it like some kind of treasury?"

Ivan shrugged, "I spend hours here at times, and these things are important to me. I don't let many people use them- you wouldn't be using them if there were other choices. But going to a gym to train you would be too much hassle."

Matthew nodded, not offended in the least, "So, what will we be doing then?"

The Russian gave him a smirk, "As much as I'd love to, I can't simply teach you how to fight without knowing what you can endure. So a sparring match won't happen just yet… Do you even know how to punch?"

Canada glared, "Yes!"

Nodding, Russia turned around to a cabinet near the punching bags, opening it up and pulling out padding that he slipped onto his hands. Standing in the middle of the room, on a wooden thatch mat, Canada followed to stand in front of him. "Show me your form."

Matthew brought his fists in front of his chest, near his face, bending his knees slightly, right foot in front of the other, and body turned a bit to the side to make himself a smaller target. It was a standard stance, good for speed and defense but could quickly change to offense. Ivan furrowed his brows, "Who do you mostly fight with?"

"America."

"I thought so," He shook his head. "America is more of a brawler; he gets his forms and stances from watching boxing and wrestling. It's not… stable or balanced. You must be trained in a variety of workouts to be ready for everything." He stepped forward. "Hands higher, back straight."

Matthew fixed his position, Ivan's padded hands tapping at places and giving tips to his body stance. "I can already tell you've got speed; hockey has done a lot. What do you do when you do not play?"

"I jog every day at home, basic sit ups, and pushups, I use a jump rope, and I have a pool to swim in. Cardio exercises I've always been good at, but… I've never had Alfred's strength and I don't fight very often. Passive-Aggressive, you know."

A raised eyebrow, "You have an expression in the Americas, I remember because I rather liked it; most people respect the badge, everyone respects the gun. You will always have those who will not take you seriously until you teach them who is superior."

Frowning, Matthew nodded, "There's really no need for that though, not from me. Alfred usually does the bullying."

Ivan's face suggested he was not happy with that, "You allow your brother to do the intimidation for you?"

That prompted him to shake his head and glare, "I know what it sounds like, but I really _don't_ enjoy his babysitting. I try to be my own but he's always there, he protects me, yes, but he also hinders my growth and I can't get away from him. We've always been together and our nations would ruin if we broke off such good relations." He sighed, releasing his stance and glaring at the ground. "You don't know how fed up I am with nobody knowing who I am. They either don't see me, or mistake me for Alfred. I want to be different and take care of myself, I _do_. It's just… everything I try backfires."

He looked to Ivan beseechingly, "I want to be different than him. So please, don't compare us."

Ivan's face remained blank but the violet eyes were not harsh. "You're already so different," He murmured. "Alfred is not as witty as you, nor as respectful, and he definitely wouldn't suck up his pride and ask me to teach him how to fight."

Matthew glanced up to lock eyes with Ivan, mouth spreading into a large grin, "Thank you, Russia."

An annoyed glare was his reply, "I was not complimenting or comforting you, merely stating observations." The smile never left Canada's face and Russia grew impatient. "Get back into form and punch here," He tapped the padding on his hand, holding it up.

Doing as he was told, Matthew got ready, trying to correct himself and remembering the tips Ivan had given him about his position, once ready, he swung his arm forward, fist contacting with the pad on Ivan's right hand, making a sharp _pop_ sound.

As he was ready for the hit, Russia's hand didn't jerk at the motion, but he did feel the impact even through the think guard. It was strong, from either Canada's vast size or a long untapped strength. However, he felt there could be more, while it was certainly stronger than many he had fought against, it wasn't Matthew's true potential. Perhaps if he got the Canadian angry enough?

Ivan nodded, "You have good stances and forms, but you're out of experience and practice. You're swinging out a bit too much; keep it straight and tight to your body so you don't lose momentum."

This went on for thirty minutes, Ivan watching Matthew perform punches and kicks and giving tips and such on how to make the best of every movement. There wasn't much Matthew needed to necessarily improve upon, but the boy needed variants in his style; more kicks, more combos, new moves in general that couldn't be learned in martial art books. Canada's strength wasn't anything to scoff at and he had been in wars, it's not as if he didn't know how to fight effectively. It was just a matter of building that skill, for it would be easily trumped by a superpower nation. Ivan saw holes, rare as they were, and easily fixable.

He removed one of the pads from his hand, gripping Matthew's right leg at the ankle, pulling it up slowly to stretch the muscles in the Canadian's leg, "You have flexibility," He noted, watching the blond to register any pain as he continued to raise the limb, it wouldn't do to pull anything. However, the muscles weren't even strained yet, and Matthew merely smiled a bit as the leg finally stopped almost flush with his chest, vertical to the ground.

"I can turn into a human pretzel," Matthew chirped, Ivan didn't know he was being serious but he looked impressed. Holding the boy still, he ordered the blond to keep this position as he slowly started to let go, testing the Canadian's balance. Much to the Russian's surprise, Matthew remained steady, standing on one foot, the other held close to his body, straight in the air. The blond gave a small smile, deciding to humor the Russian, holding his own leg by the ankle; he pulled to the side, at an angle but still stretched.

He kept it there for a few seconds before bending down, his free hand placed flat on the mat; he continued his momentum into a one-armed handstand. When he was stable in this position, he let go of his ankle, bringing both of his legs up behind him. He pointed his toes to the ceiling, knees locked, free hand out for balance. Then he bent them slowly bringing his feet forward until he could see them in front of him. "I'm not a contortionist," He said, stretching some more, it'd been a while since he had done this sort of thing. "But I could be, eh?"

Russia just watched, his eyes a bit wider than usual. "Da, you could be. How did you begin to do this?"

Setting his feet onto the floor, he completed his revolution and stood naturally once more, fixing his shirt, "It was just a hobby, I've always been agile, and when I saw some performers in a circus England took me to, I decided to try some tricks. I took to it rather well; Alfred fell flat on his face when he tried it." They shared amused looks at that, "Not much use for it though…"

"There are many uses for that," Russia disagreed. "It will make it harder for one to pin you down, many fights end up on the ground, grappling for a submissive hold; being able to twist yourself around like that can be helpful."

Ivan threw down the last of the padding and took out a stopwatch. "Now," He said with his child-like smile. "I know what you need to work on." The way he spoke sent shivers of dread down Matthew's spine. "You ready for the hardest training curriculum of your life, boy?"

He blond gulped yet nodded all the same.

"Good. You'll run five miles, climb this rope ten times, lift every one of those weights, one hundred flexes, and… well, I'll figure out what else you can do when you're busy."

"Is that all," Matthew asked dryly.

Ivan smirked, "I will be timing you. If you don't do what is required under the specified time, I will double the number you have to complete."

Nodding, Matthew ambled over to the treadmill. "Wait," He stopped, watching as Ivan rummaged through the cabinet, bringing out what looked like a black vest. Bringing it over to Canada, he strapped it on, watching with amusement as Matthew huffed; it was heavy! "Fifty extra pounds," He said.

"Thanks," Matthew chirped in a false happy tone. "Now, how long do I have to run five miles?"

"Thirty minutes."

_Oh, dieu, that's impossible._

"Start now," The stopwatch beeped as it was set and Matthew squeaked, getting on the treadmill and starting it up.

"I'm going, I'm going," He cried. Russia chuckled, hands coming up to adjust settings on the panel, the entire platform started to tilt until it was at a steep incline.

"Change the speed how you want, remember to breathe, pace yourself," He said. "I'll be in calling distance."

Matthew nodded, eyes determined and he started to jog, Ivan turned away, turning on a small radio along the wall, the room was sound proof, he needn't worry about his sisters hearing. Canada seemed to appreciate the music as well and it allowed them to work without the monotonous sound of their own actions.

Underneath the two rings hanging from the ceiling, Ivan reached up to take hold of them, pulling himself up with arm strength alone in the beginning of his own rigorous workout. For the entire given time neither of them spoke, Matthew continued to run; Ivan did his own thing normally. Russia made sure to keep an eye on the blond however, and he was quite surprised at how well he was doing; the 'distance traveled' meter on the machine steadily climbed and Matthew didn't seem as if he'd collapse any second, though he was certainly breathing heavily. Perspiration showed on his skin, giving it a shimmer, and dampening the t-shirt he wore.

He finished only a few minutes shy of the deadline, stepping off the machine, bent over and panting exhaustedly, "Okay." He brushed the bangs from his forehead, tucking the strange curl behind an ear only for it to pop right back out of place. "The rope right?"

"Da," He replied, hoping down from the pull-up rings and standing next to the rope in order to watch and make sure Matthew's position was right. "It's roughly eight feet to the top, climbing it ten times would take you to about forty meters."

"Right," He took the rope in his hands. "No feet?"

"Нет."

Matthew took steadying breaths before starting his climb, pulling himself up with all the muscles in his arms, swaying slightly, though Ivan held the bottom of the rope to keep it still. Reaching the ceiling, he tapped it, before slowly sliding down, careful not to go too quickly lest the rope burn his hands. He did not let his feet touch the ground and instead started back up again, one hand over the other, tapping the ceiling and heading back down. On the eighth cycle, his arms began to shake, the muscles inside burning. His hands were red from the coarse grip around the rope and it was a struggle for him to continue breathing as he climbed.

The ninth attempt was painful; the distance between his hands had gotten significantly smaller until he was moving up inches a time. He paused halfway up, looking to the ceiling with frustration, wondering why his arms decided to give up now, when he had one more climb and a few feet more to go - when his goal was just _right there_. He tried to reach up, but his hand shook too much and his motor skills were already shot with the workout and his chest ached, he wasn't getting enough oxygen, he couldn't breathe very well.

"Matvey, come down," Ivan said.

Matthew closed his eyes, trying to focus on inhaling and exhaling as he hung there. _Alfred would be able to do this kind of thing twenty time over_, He told himself, trying to convince his arms to give him just a bit more strength. "Matvey," Ivan called.

"I can do it, just a second."

"I do not expect you to finish this."

"But I do," Matthew answered, voice just a bit desperate and he continued to try to pull himself up. His arms wouldn't _listen_. "I should be able to."

For a long moment, Ivan remained silent and Matthew cussed himself out in every language he knew in his head. "I'm not the one comparing you to America," Russia's statement made Matthew gasp, his eyes opening wide. "You are."

And he was right… Canada knew he was. Matthew was so used to the comparisons that he had started to become his own worst critic. Whenever he needed courage, he thought about how Alfred wouldn't have given up, and when he needed advice, he thought about how Alfred would handle things. America was just… better. The star child of Arthur, the favorite, the stronger of the two; Alfred was never afraid, Alfred was the _hero_, no matter how silly it sounded when the man proclaimed that, he had the strength and heart to back it up. He'd saved many a friend-in-need before, and for Matthew, he was always trustworthy.

Comparing them had become second nature. Alfred was talkative and loud, Matthew barely spoke, and when he did, he whispered. Alfred was brave; Matthew considered himself a coward. So many things… So many _things_ Alfred could do that Matthew would never measure up to. The Canadian had convinced himself so many times that it couldn't be achieved, that reaching Alfred's level was impossible now, and yet, whenever he had the chance, he would compete, to see if he _could_. He hoped that one day, he could prove himself wrong and show everyone that what Alfred could do, Matthew could as well.

Climbing this stupid rope was just one of those details, a separation between the brothers that Matthew felt he'd never cross. Once again, he'd fallen short, and Alfred beat him without even _being there_.

Looking to the ceiling, he gave it one last longing glance before hesitantly moving his hands to help him down. As if his arms realized he was finally ending this madness, they gave out near the end and the last two feet down was a burning dissension against his palms. He cried out a bit at the pain before two large hands stopped his fall at the waist.

Ivan plucked him up and away from the rope, setting him safely on the solid ground. Those hands turned him around to see his annoyed expression, "If I tell you to get down, you better do it."

"I'm sorry," Matthew whispered. "I just… wanted to be able to."

"Well you can't, obviously." At Canada's flinch he sighed, irritated. "Pushing yourself is good, da. However, you cannot make your body do something it has not been trained to do. I can climb this rope thirty or more times, but I cannot run as fast as you can. Understand?"

"Yes," He whispered back.

"Stop that," Russia growled. "You will speak properly to me."

Looking at the man in front of him, Matthew couldn't help but smile a bit; no matter how brutish he was, Ivan was accentually telling him what he wanted to hear, the truth, the comfort. It was helpful. "Will you teach me how to climb the rope ten times?"

Russia scowled, miffed that the topic of conversation was changed so abruptly, still, Matthew hadn't whispered that time. "Boy, I will train you until you're able to climb that rope twenty times over. At the least."

Canada smiled a little more, reassured in his mind that this could help. His arms left like jelly though, they tingled and shook, and no doubt, he will be feeling the consequences of his actions later. "I didn't expect you to go that far," Ivan's voice brought him out of his reverie. "I merely wanted to test your arm's strength. I have never trained another country." Russia gave him an almost embarrassed look. "I have only trained humans. They wouldn't have been able to make it up that rope three times, much less eight and a half."

Matthew could hear an apology in his words and he chirped a happy "its fine" before inquiring what else they would move on to.

Russia motioned to a bar attached to the wall, pointing out to the middle of the room. That creepy smile was back on his face in full, "Upside down sit-ups. Do however many you can before your nose starts to bleed, da?"

… _Oh, he was serious._

…oOo…

When six-thirty rolled around, the training was called to an end and Matthew dragged his feet along the floor, tissue held to his bleeding nose, hoping it would stop soon. He felt exhausted and sticky; is sweat soaked shirt sticking to his back and chest, hair matted down. Ivan was in a better state, but the exercise he had done certainly gave him a workout and his skin glistened in the light. Matthew found it very strange that he still wore a scarf (not the one Ukraine gave him, so it wouldn't be damaged, but one that covered his neck well enough). He had wrapped it around and tucked the edges into the folds of it so they didn't get in his way.

It only served to feed Canada's curiosity on the significance of the scars, because for Ivan to go through such lengths (that scarf was bound to aggravate him, making it harder to breathe and the heat…). It simply made no sense. He said nothing though, Matthew knew he wouldn't get answers and he didn't want to ruin the bit of friendly(er) air around them.

Running upstairs to freshen up a bit before cooking breakfast, he showered, changed, and grabbed his phone as a last thought, turning it on as he traveled to the kitchen. He wasn't expecting it to freak out with thirteen missed calls and fifteen text messages. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, he checked the source, surprised to see that everything sent was from Alfred.

He checked the voice mails, holding the phone to his ear. _"Hey Matt, um, can you please call me back as soon as you get this? It's your bro, the hero!"_ He deleted it.

"_Mattie! Hey, it's me again, just wondering where you are… call me back."_ Delete.

"_Seriously Matt, where are you? Sa- I mean, call me, now!"_ Weird, he sounded somewhat desperate in that one; delete.

"_M-Mattie…" _There was a bang in the background and Alfred gave a little squeak in fright. Matthew frowned, becoming concerned. _"Matt, there's a ghost here, I'm sc- uh… I've got it under control but… can you call me? Please? I mean, I just want to be sure you're okay, you know._" Yeah, right, Alfred was scared and wanted him to save him. Delete.

The next message started out with panicked breathing and a short yelp and despite Matthew's annoyance at America's silly fear of ghosts, he was worried, after all, Alfred's panic seemed serious. _"Matthew! It's after me! A big scary she-ghost is after me! And it's got a knife!"_

Oh no…

Canada suddenly knew what was happening and he brought his free hand up to palm his face. _It's my fault_, He dreaded. _I sent Belarus after him... what have I done?_

"_Matt, I'm hiding in my 2012 zombie apocalypse shelter,"_ He had one of those… seriously? _"And the ghost is scratching at the door, I don't think she can get in, but just in case, these are my last words: let McDonalds be open night and day, with breakfast all the time, and hamburgers should be included in the food pyramid as the most nutritious. Also… tell Iggy that I really do like the Beatles, I was just teasing when I said they… well, I called them many names bu-"_ He simply went off rambling. Matthew deleted the message.

"_Funny thing Matt, the ghost was yelling out Russia's name. Can you believe that? I told her he wasn't here and at first she sounded super pissed and called me a liar and I thought I'd die by some kind of kinesis powers, like, spontaneously combust into flames or even be possessed- can you imagine if someone tried to possess me? The United States of America can't be taken over by a psychotic woman-ghost! And with my luck she's one of Ivan's victims of psychological torture and has been brainwashed into a commie!" _He gasped dramatically. _"That's the plan! Russia, you asshole, you were going to make this commie woman possess me and then I'd turn communist! No! Revenge!"_

Good god, delete.

"_Okay, now I'm confused, the ghost was under the impression that Russia and I… were having… you know. Bow-chika-wow-wow." _Matthew busted out laughing, holding his sides, just imagining the face Alfred must have made while saying that. _"Anyway, I think she's gone now. Ha ha! I must have scared her away with my heroic skills! Oh yeah!" – _End of message.

Giggles escaped his mouth every few seconds as he deleted all the missed call notifications and texts pleading for help, then he speed-dialed his brother, just to check up on the man. The phone was answered with a ruckus in the background and the sounds of obnoxious chewing and slurping. "Yeah, this is Alfred, how can the hero help you today," Was the greeting, words a bit muffled behind the smacking. It must be suppertime on the other side of the world.

"Hey Al, just making sure you're still alive after that ghost attack."

"Oh! It was terrifying, yeah. But I wasn't scared- not one bit, I used my epic skills of heroicness and charm and ran her off!"

"Nice," Canada decided to humor him. "Well, I know I said I'd be home soon to- you know, save you from boredom… but my business is taking a bit longer than I thought."

"Sure," More smacking, "Um… who is this again?"

Matthew's smile faded a bit and he turned to observe the beige paint on the walls, they had little swirls on them. "Canada," He said blankly, aggravation building in his chest. "Ca-Na-Da."

"Oh! Mattie, right, I knew that. Do what you need to dude, I'm gonna game for a while, and then head over to Iggy's." In other words, he didn't want to hang out with Canada, he'd found more exciting entertainment.

"Okay, see ya," They hung up, and Matthew sighed, his small good mood smothered. Shrugging his shoulders and taking a moment to breathe (he was still winding down from the training), he decided to forget the phone conversation, it would only bring him down. That's what he got for being nice and checking up on his brother- that idiot. He had a small rage in his head; going off on a mental tirade that insulted Alfred and everything he did (it'd probably make Alfred cry if he heard).

He let out a breath, _and now it's out of my system._

Walking into the kitchen he smiled brightly and a bit falsely at the family gathered there. Belarus and Ivan sat at the bar, the girl's chair moved as close as possible to the man's side and Ivan looked fed up and resigned to his fate, chin resting in his hand dully. He had also taken a quick shower, freshened up for the day, and looked in good spirits despite the leech on his arm. Kumajirou must have decided to wake up too, because he was sitting on the floor, giving Belarus a look that suggested he'd much rather eat her than listen to her ramble on about her _wedding_.

Ukraine was standing at the refrigerator and she gave a large smile to Matthew when he came in, "Matvey, I was just telling brother more about your pancake obsession."

A little blush stained his cheeks and he mumbled a protesting, "I'm not obsessed" that was not heard by anyone in the room.

"Can we have pancakes for breakfast," Katyusha asked, and Canada immediately perked up. "With maple syrup," A coy grin was etched onto her face as if she knew he'd agree.

Hook, line, and sinker, Matthew beamed a one-hundred watt smile, shouting a surprisingly loud "Yes!" and jumping to the refrigerator. Ukraine laughed, hand covering her mouth as she bent over slightly. Ivan smirked, amused at the boy's enthusiasm.

Matthew gathered the ingredients, mixing it quickly in a large bowl as a pan heated on the stove. He knew the recipe by heart, and when Ukraine asked about the instructions, he taught her everything he knew, giving tips and secrets he'd learned over the years. Belarus glowered in her seat as the Canadian gained the attention of her siblings.

When he was done, he sat down a plate full of thick golden pancakes in front of them all, passing out utensils and stepping into the walk-in pantry, coming back with a bottle of maple syrup he held out like a trophy. "When I went grocery shopping a few days ago, it took forever to find this among all the fake junk imported from everyone else. Along with the fact that it's in Russian…" He trailed off, smile on his face as he sat it in from of Russia. "Have you ever tried the real thing?"

Ivan picked it up with the hand that wasn't within his sister's grip, looking at the label. "Нет," He answered thoughtfully. He opened it up and dribbled it onto his pancakes, taking his fork and easily cutting up a bite. Everyone watched curiously as he took the first taste. He paused, chewed slowly, swallowed, and then stared at the plate with an unreadable face.

Canada shifted his weight from foot to foot, patience wearing thin, "So, what do you think?"

That blank face turned to lock eyes with him and Matthew was inwardly freaking out. "It's good," He said. And Matthew blinked, as that wasn't what he had expected. A smirk lit Russia's face, as he forked another piece of that fluffy pancake into his mouth. "Really good, you've definitely mastered this obsession of yours." – Matthew's eyebrow twitched.

A second later and he was grinning brightly though, he laughed and tapped the bottle of syrup, "Secret ingredient."

A hum, "But the pancakes simply melt in your mouth, I doubt that syrup would do that much." A childish smile, "Take the compliment, Matvey. It is good."

That was probably enough to cheer him up for the whole day. They all ate with a friendly air, Ukraine chatting away about what they could do today, Ivan joining in once and a while. Matthew was happily suggesting places and Belarus seemed like the only cranky person at the table, stubbornly remaining silent and periodically sending glares to Matthew.

Kumajirou crawled into Russia's lap, making him pause, a white muzzle getting closer to the plate of pancakes. Ivan huffed, pushing the food out of reach, "Matvey, why does your bear always ask for _my_ food?"

The blond giggled. "I think he's starting to like you."

Ivan grunted, giving the animal in question a warning look. "I don't care, these are mine."

"Share."

"Нет, get your own."

"Want yours."

"Too bad!"

The bear whined pitifully, giving the Russian a look that made Ukraine squeal and Matthew double over laughing. Big black eyes widened and the head tilted a bit to the side. Overall, it was a 'kicked puppy' look that many wouldn't be able to resist. Ivan just narrowed his eyes, "I'm not partial to _cute_ things. I'm still not giving you my pancakes."

Kumajirou turned his abandoned expression onto Ukraine, "I'm hungry. I want pancakes."

Katyusha cooed, and Matthew sighed, "Kumakichi, you're incorrigible." Before Katyusha broke down and gave in to the adorable _fake_ look (he could see her resolve weaken with every second that stare was on her) he took his own plate with half a pancake left and set it on the floor. "There, you beggar."

The bear scrambled off Russia's lap to the plate gobbling it up in two-point-five seconds and looking back up, "More?"

Canada gave a stern look, "Absolutely not." Katyusha giggled, Ivan rolled his eyes.

…oOo…

Considering there was a hostile takeover of the passenger seat, courtesy of Belarus, the car ride was more uncomfortable than the ones before; Ukraine sat in the back, with Matthew, and she happily played with Kumajirou who enjoyed the attention. When asked for music, Natalia had put the radio on some kind of classical music channel, an orchestra's tilting charms and a woman's voice singing as if it were an opera. Matthew had nothing against the type of music, he liked classical well enough, it was just… Belarus was ruining the moment.

"I like this song, don't you, brother," She asked, dark blue eyes staring at Russia. She was leaned close to him, not near enough to be in his way while driving, but Matthew could sense it bothered the Russian. Ivan gave a small nod, humoring her, or maybe just agreeing so he wouldn't upset her. Belarus gave a nod of conviction. "Good, then this song shall be at our wedding as well."

Ivan flinched yet said nothing.

Canada didn't understand. Ivan was supposed to be this formidable wall of intimidating evil, powerful and strong, he gave in to nothing. So why was he so willing to let this charade continue? If he didn't want to marry Belarus, why didn't he say anything? It couldn't possibly be just because Belarus was… frightening as all hell (he shivered thinking about it). However, Russia would surely survive that encounter Matthew was sure.

Therefore, it made no sense for Ivan to simply allow Belarus to fantasize in such a way. Even if she refused to give up on him, apparently following him around, screening his calls, breaking into his house, there was a line where Russia could say _enough_. Ivan could force her to stop; tell her that it would never happen.

_Would_ it ever happen?

The other night's poker game came to mind. The conversation about love and marriage- Ivan didn't seem interested in any of it, in fact, he ridiculed it and even went so far as to suggest he was incapable of it. And yet, here it was staring him in the face. Surely Belarus loved him, that was the whole point, wasn't it? It was just the fact that Russia refused to return that, not that he was unable to.

Matthew's thoughts suddenly came to a screeching halt, rewinding to go over that observation again. Belarus was offering love; Russia was refusing to reciprocate. She went through such lengths to stay with him, to show her brother that she was serious…

She was trying to help him in the same way Matthew was.

Well, sort of. Matthew wasn't stalking the psychotic Russian nor asking for marriage, but he did ask Ivan to work on his relationships. He had started with Ukraine, and no matter how difficult that had been, it worked in the end, it was up to Russia to keep the bond strong (Matthew felt the man would do good on that, he was exceptionally happy to be close to his sister again).

It still missed something though; every bond Ivan has had a hole in it. This hole stemmed from Ivan's own feelings- or the restraints on them –It wasn't that Russia didn't want to reach out (if he made an honest effort this would have been easy), but it was that he _couldn't_. The only thing Matthew could think of was that it came from Ivan's own image of himself; one couldn't love others unless they loved themselves first.

Just as Matthew was his own worst critic, Ivan was his; that night his fever reached a peak, and delirious words admitted things no other had probably heard, Matthew had realized just how hard Ivan blamed himself for the fall of the USSR. Never, either in the world meetings or out of them, did Russia ever say such things or hinted at the fact that he took responsibility.

_He hated himself_, Matthew realized, and it was only a matter of how deep this emotion had settled; how long had it been there? Did Russia blame himself just for the fall of his country, or was this hatred there _before_?

Canada could only wonder- how was he to get to the reasons if Russia refused to share them? Moreover, even if he found those reasons, Matthew knew he was way in over his head- what could he possibly say to make things better? Somehow, he doubted a simple 'it's not your fault' would change anything, and even then, as much a horrible thought it was, it very well _could be_ Ivan's fault. The man had done many things in the past that caused his own downfall (there were other factors, but it had accentually been _his_ actions).

Sighing as he stared out the window at the scenery, Matthew continued to think until his mind was sick of the topic, tangling his suggestions and possibilities until they made no sense and Matthew was left even more confused and lost on how to help.

He glanced at Belarus in front of him and jumped slightly at seeing dark eyes looking directly at him, they were angry and promised pain should he not watch his step. She turned back to her brother, talking in calm, cold tones. Matthew slowly turned back to the window, cautious and a bit weary at any sudden movements Belarus would make; _the knife she carried, it was strapped to her leg, right?_ Every time her hand moved to her lap, Matthew unconsciously tensed, ready for her to fly back and attack in a blur of white and blue fury. He was getting so _paranoid_.

"Katyusha," Canada whispered, she looking up from Kumajirou in her lap, titling her head curiously. "I think your siblings are going to kill me." Her eyes widened slightly. Matthew turned big violet eyes to her, a plea for help in them as well as desperation, "Why are you the only normal one in your family?"

She went into a fit of giggles, placing a comforting hand on Canada's shoulder, giving it a pat. Matthew pouted; he was being serious!

"Where are we going anyway," He asked, seeing as they hadn't decided and just hopped in the car; Ivan seemed to have a destination in mind.

Russia glanced back to show his smirk. "Contortionists also make good Ballet dancers," He said, and to the two women it may have been a confusing statement, but Matthew understood the reference to his gymnastic skills he showed this morning. "There's a theater in town giving a show. We'll go watch that, after all, ballet is very popular here."

Canada was instantly excited, he hadn't been to many shows, and it was a bit shameful to admit that he knew next to nothing about ballet. The image of that topic came to him in pink frilly tutus and weird turns on the tips of the toes. Sure, it was elegant, and the effect was similar to the feeling one gets from watching an opera: the emotion, the thrill, the experience. However, like opera, it has been said that ballet is an acquired taste. You either love it or hate it.

When they drove up to a rather large auditorium, Matthew was surprised at the amount of people attending. The place was as packed as any cinema would be back home on a Friday night. All kinds of people, from the elderly to children, crowded into the building and Ivan had to park quite a ways back.

It wasn't much of a walk to the doors though, and despite the windy weather, it was a nice sunny day out. The snow had turned into a muddy mush though and the group tried to keep to the more traveled sidewalk to not get dirty.

Standing in line wasn't as dull as it sounded, Katyusha and Matthew kept up the conversation and no matter how long the line looked, it went by rather fast, Ivan even showed a bit of excitement when he bought the tickets, putting a bit more force into that childish smile of his. He even bounced a bit which made Matthew laugh at his silliness.

Snatching the tickets out of his hands, Matthew stuck his tongue out and held the pieces of paper up tauntingly. "Like taking candy from a baby," He teased.

"You are calling _me_ a child, little Matvey," Ivan asked, the expression never changing.

"And if I am, _little_ _Ivan_?" Russia made a lunge for him and Matthew ducked at the last second, twisting around and holding the tickets in front of him again, a bubbly laugh escaped him and he grinned at Ivan's slight pout, waving the paper. "Come on, you can do it."

Russia was quicker this time, and he stepped forward, a large arm grabbing him at the waist and keeping Canada from running. The other hand came up to make a grab at the tickets. Matthew may have been unable to get away, but his arms were still free and he laughed as he attempted to keep the papers away. He jerked his hand from the right to the left, Ivan's following, then up, back to the right.

And then the papers were gone, and a strong grip that made Matthew wince, slightly tightened around his wrist. Belarus stood there, outright fury on her face as she held Matthew and the tickets in separate hands. If she had three hands, Matthew had no doubt a knife would be at his throat. "Stop this foolishness, now," She commanded, and Russia let go of Canada, that blank look returning to his face.

Matthew was no longer smiling but frowning a bit. Couldn't she see that was the whole point- to get Russia to come out of his blank shell and act more human- to be happy and to show it? So what if the result was a bit of silly roughhousing?

Belarus's glare was intimidating but Matthew didn't cower under it like usual, he met her glare head on with a look that suggested he was disappointed in her. She sniffed, reaching over to take Ivan's arm and holding it against her chest, "Come brother, the show will be starting soon."

"Da," He put up no resistance as she pulled him to the doors, and for a second Matthew's anger boiled in his chest. If she wanted to pursue him, that was fine, but to blatantly refuse to let him build relationships with those outside of the family was ridiculous. She wasn't helping the man, she was isolating him!

"Matvey," A voice beside him pulled him from his thoughts and he looked to Ukraine, holding Kumajirou and looking a little down. "Belarus is causing trouble for you isn't she?"

The Canadian's rage slowly seeped away as he took in her sad expression. "Just a bit," He had to admit, it was a deep understatement seeing as she was trying to kill him and ruin all of Ivan's progress. "I felt that I was getting closer to Russia, we've been having actual conversations, not just arguments. Belarus won't even let me talk to him now though and it's almost like he's reverting back to how he was before."

Ukraine's frown deepened. "I like how Ivan has changed."

Canada gave a small smile, "Don't worry, I won't be giving up." He pumped his fights into the air like a certain American would do, "I'll get it eventually! I'm the Hero!"

Katyusha laughed, effectively cheered up, "That makes me very happy to hear, Matvey. Please don't give up on my brother."

She meant it in more ways than one, and Canada caught the dual meaning and continued to smile, "I won't. I've come this far, eh? Surly it can't get worse."

_Famous last words._

…Thank You…

Grah, this chapter was a bit hard to type out, I wasn't really satisfied with it, but time has to go by! I can't just skip to the good parts.

I really, _really_ want to though!

Anyway, everything on my profile page has been set up. Giving In has a whole little section just underneath the little info. It contains fan-art, a tour of Ivan's mansion, and anything else regarding this story. :)

Enjoy!

_Translations:_

There was nothing in this chapter to translate! Ha ha_._

_Disclaimer: I don't own countries, corporations, and the internet (that's on my Christmas wish list though), or ballet…. Anything that's copyrighted; it's not mine._


	14. бой: Offense

Matthew sat down quietly, avoiding Belarus as much as possible. It wasn't hard with Katyusha between them and Ivan at the end. Anger still scratched at his chest, begging to be unleashed, and in all honesty, Canada was more frightened of that emotion than he was of _her._ Infuriation wasn't a very common feeling Matthew dealt with; of course, there were those days where it would bubble over, and here lately things have been pushing it, but he was usually a very patient, calm individual.

Perhaps it was because his country was more laid-back than most, or that much of his land remained in a state of undestroyed nature, quiet reserve parks- whatever the cause, Matthew prided himself on keeping his cool for the most part, and dealing with his troubles in a rational way: no need for violence, no need for insults.

That's not to say he never got mad; Alfred would eventually get him to snap and then he'd go off on rants or show that brother of his just why you shouldn't mess with a Canadian.

In the end, America got the point; there was a line that could be crossed, and Matthew could be mean… it's just that it didn't happen often. Moreover, nobody pushed his buttons more than America, so it was understandable that other countries wouldn't believe the blond when he told others about the "shy, silent Mattie" going psycho-crazy once and a while.

It was an internal joke in the Americas that the silent ones are the first to snap, and Alfred knew that Mattie _did_ have a mean streak; after all, Canada had gotten him pretty good sometimes. Like when Alfred tried to blackmail him into agreeing with the many policies the USA had taken; the Vietnam War, the status of Cuba, the Iraq War, Missile Defense, and the War on Terrorism. Even the Northwest Passage that Matthew claimed was part of _his_ waters and thus, could be controlled by _him_.

Of course, then there was the instance in which America had wanted to 'become one' with Canada during his independence. That was the first and only time Matthew had faced an invasion- the continental army's force in Québec, Alfred's referendum, "You will join the thirteen States, Matthew, willingly or not." They were both answered with a strong denial.

England had certainly helped with that, sending his troops to protect Canada, but Matthew had to deal with his brother alone. Normally cheerful blue eyes darkened and a serious, blank, and intimidating face replaced the smiles and grins.

Alfred had made many good points back then, given many good reasons for Matthew to join him, but the words, the intention behind them; those hands that gripped his waist and those hungry lips against his… it was not for love- everything was fake, and Matthew could sense the lies. It hurt that he would think of his once wonderful older brother in such a way, but Alfred wanted nothing but conquest- to be free, to be strong- an empire all his own. Once Canada joined in his cause, he'd only be taken, becoming part of America, under _his_ rule- he'd have no more freedom with America than he would with England.

The punch that connected with Alfred's jaw, the sharp kick in his side, and the barrel of his rifle aimed at his brother's head, only further convinced the American that his resolve did not change. Canada had forced his brother away, kicked him out of Québec, and promised to remain faithful to Arthur, as his colony, for as long as he could stand.

He'd taken all kinds of hits from his brother and for his brother, and he'd like to think he gave hell back, even if force was not his preferred action.

There were times where Canada had chased his brother out of the house with his hockey stick, ice skates, and/or various breakable, bludgeon objects. He sent Kumajirou after him a few times (Alfred's a bit weary of the bear, which Matthew thinks is funny as hell) because everyone has the right to fear his furry friend, not only for the claws and teeth, but the almost evil actions the other pulled off against those he disliked. Surprisingly this abnormal behavior was more often directed to France, and Matthew wondered why before realizing that his papa _had_ been rather touchy lately as well… _not much of a surprise after that observation._

Matthew always thought of his animal friend as more of a partner in crime- together they were the perfect team, the sweet kind boy, and the adorably cute bear. Nobody would suspect them as the culprits to a certain country's sudden disappearance, whether it was America, France… or Belarus.

He had the urge to laugh evilly.

Katyusha had given Kumajirou back to him before they went into the auditorium to sit, bypassing the snack stands and continuing through the double doors to catch up to Natalia and the trapped Ivan. Russia sat at the end of the row, the closest to the aisle. Whether this was to make a quick escape or to have one less leech on his side, one could only guess, but he refused to move and the others had to squeeze by him.

Matthew ended up sitting beside a little girl and her father. She bounced in her seat, clearly excited and chattering away in Russian, pointing to the covered stage and looking around curiously. Her light blue dress was beautifully made, and she had ribbons in her dark hair that flew in whichever direction her head turned. Matthew smiled at her energy, wishing he could speak to her. He had read a little bit of the language book he bought at GUM last night while they all went to bed, he tried to build his vocabulary up as much as he could, starting with colors and greetings. It was easy to memorize, but he was far from putting sentences together.

It was sudden when the little girl sprang from her seat in a burst of squeals, pointing to Kumajirou in Matthew's lap. She didn't look afraid, just surprised, and she rapidly started to question Canada. Ukraine giggled, leaning over to whisper in his ear, "She wants to know his name."

Matthew smiled kindly, "Kuma… jirou." _That was right… wasn't it?_

She squealed again.

"She wants to pet him," Ukraine translated. "Say, Да."

The Canadian repeated the Russian word for 'yes,' though that one was already known to him, as it should be with how many times Russia used it. The girl's hand reached out, coming down and slowly caressing the white fur. Kumajirou blinked at the contact, coming out of whatever nap he'd been taking and yawning widely.

Eyes widening, the girl spoke softly, curiosity getting the best of her as she moved a finger to touch one of the bear's sharp canines, testing the edge. When the yawn ended, the bear was careful not to bite her and instead flicked out his pink tongue to lick her hand.

Matthew shifted his friend into a seated position on his lap, so that both front paws were free. "Show her the hand game, Kuma," Canada requested, referring to the one of the many games the two had played when they were young and lonely. It never failed to cheer them up then and it always made them laugh.

Kumajirou moved his own paws to high-five the girl who giggled and high-fived back, down low, then they cross-crossed, connecting one palm to the other, before switching hands. The pattern was mixed up, as the girl simply touched the paws, feeling the smooth pads and moving the fingers individually in childish curiosity.

Canada watched, smiling softly, patting the bear's back lightly because he knew the attention could annoy his friend at times; kids always wanted to pet him, adults always wanted him locked up. His friend wasn't as patient as Matthew, and he got irritated at so much attention that kept him from his naps.

He was happy for now though, Kumajirou didn't seem to mind too much, and he continued to play with the little girl, being nice and cute for her enjoyment. She would talk, Ukraine would repeat the sentences in English, and Matthew would do his best to reply, or Katyusha would do so for him. Mostly they spoke about Kumajirou, but the girl never forgot about where they were and what they waited for: the ballet show.

When she heard Matthew had never seen this presentation before, she went on a huge tirade and Ukraine had trouble translating. "She's speaking so fast," She laughed. "Slow down, breathe!"

Matthew laughed as well, putting his finger to his mouth in a 'shush' gesture, and she slowed down, grinning impishly. Reaching up, the little fingers softly touched Matthew's golden hair, following the waves to the ends.

"She calls you beautiful," Katyusha said.

Canada blushed, thinking that was more of a female term, not something normally used for men. He smiled gently though, flattered and happy that she would think that. "Спасибо," He thanked her, smiling a true, honest smile.

She giggled, continuing to play with his hair, idly talking about things that her hyperactive mind came across. _Too much sugar_, Matthew thought, but in the end, she was just so cute and happy he didn't care.

Three seats down, Ivan had listened in on the conversation since the beginning, enraptured in the way that Matthew handled the child. Allowing her to speak, indulging in her attention- there was something about the interaction between Matthew and a citizen of _his_ land that just… warmed him. He was so kind to her, patient and happy to answer all her questions, despite needing a median. He treated her as if she was his own, and that brought him closer to the boy, his gratitude overwhelming in that instant. No other nation had been so kind to his people when it was not necessary…

Russia didn't understand, Matthew was so different than he imagined; how could such a nation survive with that kind of kindness? How could such a man be… as strong as he was? It was a different _kind_ of strength, but strength all the same and it confounded Ivan.

Last week he had trouble remembering that there was a country named Canada, and now, if someone asked, Ivan would not be able to boast that he knew anything about the boy- but he doubted he'd forget about him any time soon. Such an enigma couldn't merely be forgotten; Russia needed to unravel it. It wasn't simply innocence, Matthew was sure to have scars; it wasn't simply ignorance, Matthew proved to be intelligent and informed. He was just… different.

"Brother," Belarus' voice brought him out of his thoughts and he snapped his gaze to her for he had begun to stare. Natalia had seen but she merely tightened her grip around his arm, face stony, "I dislike that boy being here, you do not need his assistance now that I am here."

Ivan's chest tightened as he wondered if she knew just what he was trying to _assist_ him in. Ukraine hadn't said it, but he was quite sure she had caught on to the real reason Matthew stayed. Despite her flaccid personality, Katyusha was smart, and she knew Ivan quite well; these trips around Russia… she wasn't so dense as to believe they didn't serve a purpose. That didn't bother him as much as it would should Belarus know.

"I will be able to take care of you in your weak health, my dear Ivan."

The Russian let out a relieved sigh, avoiding her eyes. "He stays because I enjoy his food- and he is not annoying," _For the most part_. "Also, his Prime Minister has agreed to send support, our bosses have already met and spoke about the terms. Have you not heard? Matvey is being very helpful."

Belarus made a sour face, clutching tighter, Russia's captured arm started to tingle, and he was getting more aggravated by the moment. He was tired of her clinging on him, tired of the noise and claustrophobia that came with being in a popular, public place, and the wait for the show seemed to take forever, they'd been sitting for ten minutes now. "I can learn to cook well for you, brother, if that is what you want. I shall take classes as soon as I get home, to be the best chef for you, my Ivan."

Ivan grimaced, he didn't want her to do that, but he knew that nothing he said would change her mind now. It was always like this; Russia would mention something he enjoyed, and she would attempt to mimic what he said to better get him to 'love' her. Many years ago, he let it slip that he liked long hair; she refused to cut hers from then on. He complimented her on her dress; she buys _five_ more, just like it.

Not only appearances changed, but skills were built on as well, Natalia attempted to sew Ivan a scarf, as their sister Ukraine had. The red fabric was not the best quality and it irritated his skin when he wore it to make her happy, two days later, he stuffed the stupid gift in the back of his closet, relieved to go back to the white one he favored so much. Natalia merely stated she'd make another one, and she did, repeatedly, hoping that the new one would be better than the others- they weren't.

She took dancing classes, seeing as Ivan enjoyed ballet, and while she had gotten good at it, Ivan just couldn't bring himself to like her any more than he already did. No matter what she learned or how far she tried to _change_ herself to suit his likes and dislikes, Russia couldn't deal with her; his temper grew shorter with every one of her visits and he came to dread their conversations in which the subjects were marriage and his opinion on everything.

She got jealous easily, over the simplest things that garnered his attention, like hockey games, recreational activities- the times he would not actually have to _work_ (a big deal, for he worked all the time). Belarus would pop up and either drag him off somewhere else or demand to… snuggle on the couch while they watched the Hockey game (which she did not like). According to her, Hockey was an "undignified sport full of filthy men and stupid rules- Oh but you are very good at such a game, dear, I understand why you may like it," … Ivan doubted she understood anything about him.

Overall, Russia would have preferred his little sister from long ago, rather than this clingy, annoying, insufferable witch next to him. Belarus used to be so serene in her younger days; she had the voice of an angel and a laugh that sounded like bells ringing beautifully. She would cling to him then too, but only because she was cold and liked his company. It was a case of adoration for her big brother; she was in awe of his might, she wanted to be just like him (he always hated when she said that, but at the same time it filled him with pride).

They were siblings, he took care of her, or tried to anyway, she was in the Tsar household with him and the things she saw were not exactly good for any rightful child to see. She also got hit by the Mongols pretty fiercely earlier on, but that was before they properly knew each other.

In the end, it was a slow change; she had adored him for centuries, and he did his best to protect her within the USSR. Her independence certainly came as a surprise but what shocked him more was the fact that she _came back_, trying to convince him to let her back in and be… one with him.

The ideas she spoke of, it frightened him- he didn't know why she suddenly wanted more from him than a sibling bond, why she wanted to give up the independence she had declared not long ago. She wanted an alliance, to be together, and Ivan was almost non-believing until their bosses had a meeting on it; that was when he realized that she was serious about this.

Within Russia's lifetime, he managed to keep embarrassing moments to a minimum, but with this news, regrettably, he lost all pretenses and kind of… "freaked out" as they said. He ran away from that room and his little sister, screaming denials over his shoulder as he escaped out the window. Natalia only followed him; she hadn't given up, her resolve seemed to have grown stronger since then- and so had his… fear.

The question his subconscious asked, _what exactly am I afraid of_, couldn't be answered. Ivan just got an irrational wave of dread mixed with fear whenever she came near; two choices of fight, or flight, and no matter how much Natalia's feelings toward him changed, he still cared for her, he couldn't hit her.

Ivan was lost on what to do, how to handle her- he'd never been in this situation before. People were suppose to be afraid of him, not begging for his hand in marriage and certainly not stalking him. He was so confused, but he knew that this was not what he wanted; Belarus, was not whom he wanted to be around for the rest of his unnatural long life- definitely not.

He just wanted his little sister to stop this stupid farce and give up on marrying him, because he was tired of running from her.

During his little internal monologue, Belarus had continued on speaking in that single toned voice of hers, like a robot. Even the sound grated on his nerves, but the words made it all the worse; she was talking about how she could possibly help him with his economy, so he wouldn't have to lean on that 'harpy' (was the name she had given Canada it seemed). Ivan knew she wouldn't be able to- her country had problems of their own and her economy wasn't nearly as stable as Canada's, even with the problems in North America.

Natalia's boss would never agree to such a thing, and if he did, the help wouldn't improve his charts much. Overall, Matthew's help would still be better appreciated and it would work, as it already had. Russia didn't see the point in telling her this though, his negativity would only make her more determined to try and he was already tired of her long speech.

He sighed, looking back to Matthew, trying to mute his sister's voice by watching the boy discreetly as the girl played with his hair. He spoke something in Russian, or at least tried to, his accents were off, and Russia had to keep himself from scoffing and correcting him.

He was thankful for the sudden drawing of the curtains at the stage; the people hurried to their seats, hushing each other as the show started. The lights dimmed and music faded in, the tune playful as the dancers made their appearance.

Canada watched anxiously, just as transfixed as the little girl beside him as the dancers twirled. It wasn't what he thought it would be, he admitted. The dancers didn't wear tutus but the kind of clothes an ice-skater would wear- leotards with simple skirts, bright sequins, and glitter that caught the light.

They didn't move in simple traditional pirouettes and battements either, modernized actions were added in, which didn't make it any less graceful. The choreography was excellent and the synchronization between the notes of the music and the dancers on stage was perfect. Matthew didn't want to know how much these performers had practiced to get everything as good as it was.

The plot itself was a joy: one of love and comedy: a man trying to get the beautiful noble woman to fall in love with him. It didn't quite work seeing as nothing he did made her any more interested.

He followed her around like a puppy, performing tricks and showing off like a bird would puff his chest for a female. Although his performance was graceful and interesting to those in the audience, the woman remained unimpressed and Matthew giggled at his seemingly hopeless attempts. The way he'd try so hard and wait for praise that would never come from the snobby girl, it would have been sad if the audience didn't see the woman snickering when the man wasn't looking. She was slowly coming around.

Then there was competition, another dancer taking up the woman's hand and sweeping her off her feet (literally and figuratively). This man was everything the love-struck puppy was not; dignified, rich, of noble decent, and apparently had a lot to give.

The performance grew sad; the dances were slow and gloomy as the man fell into depression, the girl of his dreams taken away. However, he did not dawdle on his feelings for long, instead choosing to congratulate the woman he had loved on her happy life.

Matthew's eyes actually misted over in tears at the emotion, the strong acting and the talented dancing, the music; it all built in his chest, making him hold his breath in some places, and nearly hyperventilating in others. Especially when the action starts heating up: the man everyone had thought was perfect, was not. Canada wasn't too surprised; after all, when something was too good to be true, it most likely was a lie. The man had been giving him bad vibes throughout the whole play. _I knew it._

Ukraine giggled beside him and Matthew blushed, sinking further into his seat as he realized he'd said that aloud.

When this bit of treacherous truth came out, there was pandemonium. The main character was outraged, the depression washing away as the two 'battled.' The dance was amazing; full of sharp turns, skillful acrobatic movements, and the time had to be perfect or else a flying kick really would make contact.

The only thing Matthew didn't agree with was the woman's hesitant reaction; she stood there, dazed and scared, she didn't get angry, didn't join the battle. Up until then, Matthew had thought they were similar (though he held more resemblance to the dubbed 'puppy' more than anything, situation-wise), she merely held high standards.

That was where the similarities ended though, because should this happen to him; he knew he'd be right in that dance, kicking ass, and getting revenge. That pretty boy liar wouldn't stand a chance; all bark, no bite. Canada could take him.

Ukraine giggled again. Matthew buried his chin in Kumajirou's fur to keep his mouth shut.

In the end, the traitor died, and the woman was saved by her 'hero,' finally consenting into going out with the 'puppy' who had apparently proved himself. Canada barely kept himself from laughing at the joy the man produced, he was extra bouncy and flamboyant in his dance for her, and she laughed at his silliness before taking his hand and joining him for the first time.

The crowd let out an _awe_ sound and Matthew really did laugh because in all actuality, it was somewhat corny, but he couldn't help but be happy for the characters too. And when they kissed a large encore swept across the audience and Canada joined.

The end was met with a standing ovation as the actors lined up, bowing and waving as the curtains slowly drawled to a close. Canada stood, clapping amongst the rest, laughing as the girl beside him climbed up onto her chair to see over the adults in front of them, all the while clapping her small hands together with wide, enthusiastic motions. The grin on her face was one of absolute joy and Matthew's smile softened in affection.

Then he was suddenly jerked by the arm, barely keeping himself from dropping Kumajirou as a rather strong grip on his bicep pulled him out of the row and down the aisle. Looking at the perpetrator, he saw Ukraine giving him an apologetic look even as she herself was being pulled by Russia's unoccupied hand.

Ivan seemed to be in a hurry as he sped down the walkway, a chain of his sisters and a Canadian practically jogging behind him to keep up, like a family of misfit ducklings. They were dragged all the way out of the auditorium, passed the snacks, out the doors, and almost out into the parking lot before Matthew huffed, digging his heels into the concrete. Ukraine stopped, squeaking as she was momentarily stretched in between them until Russia stopped as well, looking back.

"What's the rush," Canada asked, half anticipating some kind of emergency.

Ivan merely blinked, completely serious when he said, in a no-nonsense-manner, "I do not like squeezing by the large crowds."

Canada lets out a disbelieving laugh, thinking about how that made perfect sense. Russia hated people, so he certainly wouldn't like to be pressed against them in a flurry to get out the door. "Fine, just don't ripe my arm out of its socket next time you decide to run like there's a fire." He politely shook Katyusha's hand off him, strolling past the trio of siblings and walking backwards to speak to Ivan, "You take long strides, I ran the entire time, and my legs are sore, so suck it up and walk like normal, eh?"

Natalia growled, shooting him glares, but Ivan merely smirked, "You wouldn't have had to run if you were not so short, da?"

"I'm not short!"

"Da, you are."

"_Nyet_, I'm not."

Ivan paused, "What?"

Matthew frowned. "Nyet, _no_ in Russian," He clarified. Then he mumbled to himself, "I could have sworn that was right."

"It was right; don't put so much emphasis on the subtle 'n' though."

"Yet… Net... Nyet."

"Нет."

"Nyet."

"Нет."

"It sounds the same!"

"You're missing the accent!"

Ukraine giggled, taking the moment to wrap an arm around Belarus's shoulder and starting a conversation about the show, slowly pulling her sister away from Ivan's arm. They walked to the car, the girls discretely distancing themselves from the men.

Both Russia and Canada noticed, and Ivan was never more thankful to Ukraine, ever.

He sped up to walk beside Matthew, "You're riding shotgun."

Canada snickered, "That's be great, but if I'm going to put my life in danger like that I better have some incentive."

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought you didn't need such a thing."

The blond rolled his eyes, "I just want full control of the radio, I can't take much more of this girly music, I want rock, and I want English."

Ivan let out a childish laugh as Matthew continued to grumble and curse under his breath in French. "Deal, so long as you turn the music up loud enough to drown out my sister's voice."

"Tired of listening to the wedding details?"

"There will be no wedding," He growled.

"Am I invited?" Matthew laughed running the rest of the way to the car and jumping into the passenger seat just as Ivan pressed the unlock button on his key. Ivan grumbled, shot him a glare, and denied ever hearing that comment. _There would be no wedding!_

"Tramp," A screech was heard, and Canada shut the car door just as Belarus flung herself into it,her nails attempted to scratch into the glass and she reached for the handle. Matthew pressed down the manual lock mechanism on the side, her pulls on the lever turning useless. She screamed obscenities at him in different languages, and she glared at him with malice.

Kumajirou sat up on the boy's lap, looking out the window to the angry nation outside. With a cute expression, the bear lifted a paw up and waved condescendingly. Ivan got in the driver side, the open door allowed the woman's voice to rise in volume before it shut again and her words were muted. Russia leaned back, sighing, "She's so loud."

Belarus finally decided to do something besides scream, she turned to the back door, wrenching it open and climbing inside the vehicle, knife in hand. Matthew twisted, pushing up against the dashboard as the sharpened steel pointed at him. "Move," she said. "Before I cut off that pretty little face."

Canada glared back, not liking the commanding tone and the threat it entailed. "Belarus," He tried to say calmly. "You are out of line. Whether or not we are in a conference room does not matter, you should still show respect."

"I respect your country," She snarled, the knife gesturing to him. "It's _you_ I find revolting."

"To bad we're the same thing. Put down the knife and get over this temper tantrum now."

"Get out!"

"Belarus," Russia intervened, giving his sister a cold look. "Canada is right, stop your foolishness."

A flicker of hurt crossed her face, "But Ivan, you do not wish to sit with me? We go so long without seeing each other… you never have time for me anymore, Vanya." Russia brought a hand up to message his temples. "And now this… hussy comes along and you have all the time in the world? A sudden vacation? It's not fair Vanya! I want him gone!"

Matthew frowned, looking back and forth between the siblings. Honestly, he wouldn't mind giving up his seat, it wasn't as if he had laid claim to it (Belarus figured she did) and in the end, it really was just a _seat_. Was she seriously making such a big deal out of it?

Russia's posture worried him, he looked exhausted and ready to snap, either in anger or in desperation, and he bet it would be the former they'd be seeing if they didn't stop arguing. Strange how it wasn't so bad as they went into the theater, but Ivan seemed to be in a sour mood directly after the show- Matthew would have thought the ballet would have cheered him up, not have the opposite effect. Then again, the source of his frustration seemed to be Belarus, so apparently, his sister had been bugging him throughout the presentation.

Frankly, Canada was fed up with Natalia's attitude. That burning anger built up inside him again, and this time he simply unleashed it.

"Get rid of him, Vanya, he's such a nuisance-"

"You are the nuisance here, Belarus," He cut in, voice louder than usual and a great deal colder. It garnered the attention of all three siblings. "You've done nothing but hinder what was supposed to be a good, fun time. You have done _nothing_ but insult me and talk about your _wedding_ that, if I interpreted the news correctly, _is not happening_. You are rude, obnoxious, pretentious, and bad company to be around. You don't think of anyone but yourself, not even your _precious dear Ivan_, because if you honestly cared about him you'd see that you've done nothing but make everything worse! So, with all due respect, _shut. Up._"

She gaped at him, fumbling for words, "Excuse me?"

"You heard, now," His voice dropped to an even lower octave. "Get that knife out of my face before I consider this a threat against my country and retaliate." She simply stared, wide eyed and shocked that a person, someone like _him_, would be so threatening. However, to all the others in the car a slight chill, not from any form of weather, crept into their clothes, sinking through skin and down to bone. Canada's eyes seemed to smolder a bright, flashing purple and the boy's slender frame remained rigged and tense.

To add to the intimidation, Kumajirou, despite his small size for a polar bear, looked wild and untamed in that instant. He didn't growl, but he still looked close to snapping his large jaws around the offending hand that held the knife. His beady black eyes were hard, and a wrinkle around the nose suggested he was seconds away from baring fangs.

Belarus lowered the weapon, slowly pulling it away from the hostile country and his bear. Clearing her throat, she looked down, avoiding the blond's eyes. "I apologize," Her voice was hollow, Canada could tell she did not mean it, but she was successfully cowered and the knife was steadily put away.

"Good," Matthew answered stiffly, and thought he didn't feel comfortable; he turned his back on her to sit properly in the chair. Ivan did the same, starting the car and giving sidelong glances in Canada's direction. "I'm not in the mood for music anymore, so perhaps we should sit in silence, eh?"

Nobody answered him, seemingly agreeing that silence was a good idea.

…oOo…

"Ivan," Matthew called, poking his head into the study room. It had been a few hours since they'd gotten back from the show and the four nations scattered within the house, finding other things to do that didn't involve each other. Ivan worked, Matthew cleaned, Belarus disappeared into the rooms upstairs, and Ukraine sat in the living room knitting. They'd all been relatively quiet for a long while, waiting for the tension to settle before getting together again.

That would take a while. Ivan avoided everyone, tired of the company, the noise, the arguing, the _touching_, and a few hours of alone time was not enough. Belarus was in a horrible mood after the insults Canada threw her way, Ukraine was frustrated that they couldn't all get along, and Matthew was annoyed at all his progress turning into a giant train wreck, bursting into fire, quarantined with disease, and carrying a nuclear bomb rigged to explode.

Still, Matthew supposed he'd just have to start again, hence him being there, in Ivan's study, facing a scowling Russian with a plate full of maple-flavored cookies in one hand, and vodka bottle in another. The two would taste horrible together, Matthew imagined, but for Russia, vodka probably went well with anything. "A peace offering I suppose," The Canadian said sheepishly. "I'm sorry for snapping in the car."

In all actuality, he should be apologizing to Belarus, seeing as he technically yelled at _her_ but… well there were many reasons he wasn't searching her out to make peace. Besides, he was a guest, his behavior wasn't exactly appropriate and whether or not Natalia deserved a good slap in the face, she was Ivan's sister. It wasn't his place.

Russia merely lifted an eyebrow, looking to the cookies with surprise even as his hand snatched the alcohol out of the boy's hand like a stray animal would take food from a stranger, cautious and quick like the offer would be taken away. Once the bottle was opened and he had taken a large gulp of the liquid, he finally reached for the baked desert.

"Maple flavored," Matthew said, smiling a bit as he set the plate on the desk. "Secret ingredient."

He bit into it, the cookie coming apart softly and almost melting in his mouth, he groaned in appreciation at the tastes. Canada laughed, "You should see your face."

Ivan gave him a little glare, but leaned back in his chair finishing off the first cookie and going for another. "I'm leaving for a little bit," He suddenly said, saving whatever work he had on his computer and shutting the machine down.

"Eh?"

Canada stood back as the Russian got to his feet, moving around the blond to grab his coat and shrug it on. "I just need to get out for a while. Be away from my sister. Expect me back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Matthew exclaimed. "Where will you be sleeping tonight then?"

Russia looked at him as if he was speaking nonsense. "I can get a hotel or something," He stated obviously.

"Yeah, but this is your house, you shouldn't have to leave to get away from us, it's supposed to be the other way around!"

Ivan gave an annoyed sigh, "Shut up, Matvey. I've done it before; I wouldn't kick my sisters out. Besides, I hate this place anyway."

Canada pouted, feeling guilty; he'd have no problem being kicked out for a day or two, if that was what made Ivan feel better then it was worth it. He lowered his eyes, following the man out of the office door and down the short hallway, and to the back door, "I'm really sorry, Russia."

Ivan watched him as he laced up his boots. "I was impressed that you were so successfully angered," He said. "Perhaps I should hold a knife in your face too?"

Matthew narrowed his eyes, "It wasn't just the knife that made me mad. She was just…" He grumbled.

"What, Matvey?"

Eyes of similar colors clashed, "She just ruined all the good mood and fun times, and… you're different around her."

"How am I different," He asked, standing once again, picking up the bottle of vodka he apparently was taking with him.

"Well, you didn't talk as much, and you're already pretty silent so you barely spoke at all, and your mood just drops every time she's near and you let her push you around. Why?"

Russia gave a little sigh, looking around to make sure neither of his sisters were listening. He leaned forward a bit, speaking low, "I can't afford to lose them, Matvey." Canada jumped a bit, not expecting the confession. "They were the only ones there for me; they are special, even if they are not strong or particularly smart." His mouth twisted, grimacing at the words coming out of his mouth, and he bit his lip before continuing. "I'm thankful, da? So I allow them to… do whatever they want."

"_Whatever they want_ includes planning weddings and stalking you? Thankful or not, I doubt they want you to indulge them because you feel you _have _to. It's not something you have to repay."

Ivan glared at the floor, "You do not understand." He turned, walking out into the garage. Matthew protested, trying to stop him but his attempts were in vain. Ivan straddled his Ducati, revving the engine as the big aluminum and metal door opened. The engine conveniently drowned out his whispering voice and as Russia pointedly put on his helmet, Matthew figured the man was purposely ignoring him. He stopped trying to yell over the noise, stood in the doorway, and watched for the second time as Russia drove off.

"Matvey!"

Canada, with all the speed he possessed, dodged the worried Ukraine who came running out the doorway. Matthew learned his lesson last time, no more run-ins with that stupid door. "Where did Ivan go?"

Shrugging, Matthew sighed, "He said he'll be gone for the night, didn't tell me where he was staying."

Tears sprang up in her eyes and her hands covered her face, "Oh, it's our fault isn't it?"

Canada stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her shoulders that were beginning to shake, "No, Katyusha. It's not our fault." It wasn't a complete lie. "Ivan just doesn't like too much company, right? He just wants to get away for a while; it wasn't because of something we did."

She sniffled into his chest, "But Matvey… He won't come back."

"Yes he will," He chided. Rubbing his hand along her back in soothing circles, confused and worried about why she was getting so emotional about him leaving for a little bit. _Where was this coming from?_ "This is his home, you're his family, and he said he'd be back by tomorrow."

"He always says that, but he never comes back on time. He'll leave for a week or a month. A-and then," She began to hiccup, tears rolling down her cheeks and dampening Matthew's shirt. "When h-he does come back he's h-hurt."

"Hurt," Matthew repeated, frowning.

"He gets h-hurt all the t-time. M-Matvey, you have to s-stop him!"

"No!" Canada looked back to see Belarus in the doorway, glaring hatefully at the two. "Vanya will be fine! He does this all the time, and he comes back happier than usual. A tramp like him would only get in the way."

Ukraine jerked her head up to look at her sister, saying something in their shared language that Matthew didn't understand. Natalia snapped back, and suddenly the meek Canadian was in the middle of a yelling match between the siblings speaking rapidly in a foreign language.

"S-stop please," The yell momentarily caught their attention. Matthew sighed, a comforting hand still on Katyusha's back as she wiped away the tears in her eyes. "Please explain to me what is going on?"

Natalia's "it's not of your business" went ignored.

"Whenever Ivan gets too exhausted with our company, or if he's in a really bad mood, he'll disappear for a while; sometimes without warning. But he always comes back injured. Matvey, I mean broken bones and deep gashes, not little cuts and bruises."

_We are talking about Russia here, right? Who could injure him so badly? _"And you don't know where he goes?"

"No," She gave a whimpering moan, burying her face into Canada's shoulder.

"Shh," He soothed. "I'm sure he has his phone, let me call him, okay?"

One arm around her and the other digging into his pocket for the red device, he flipped it open and found Ivan's number. He waited with it at his ear for a few moments before it went straight to voice-mail. "His phone's off."

Katyusha started crying harder and Natalia snapped an "I told you so," Matthew grew frustrated with his situation. Once again, Ivan took off, leaving _him_ to clean up the mess. Canada didn't mind hanging around women so much but the drama was starting to make even him annoyed. He'd much rather his brother's obnoxious rough housing than _this_.

"Look," He said, trying to keep his voice firm but low and comforting. "Russia is going to be fine, we have things planned, he's can't just take off and stay gone without warning."

"He does all the time," Ukraine whined in despair.

"Not this time," He said even more firmly. _Or I'll kick his ass and let the States have him._

He was still confused on just what she meant by injured. Broken bones and deep gashes? What could do that to Russia? Unless it was a war, things like that should never happen. He'd have heard about it on the news… so it must be wounds conflicted by others, from person to person. What chance would they have against Russia though? How would they get to…?

"_I like to fight."_

"_People know that, it's obvious."_

"_Is it?"_

"_Oui."_

"_People don't know I do it all the time though," He said. "There's this bar on the other side of town, very shady place. They have a basement made specifically for illegal brawls."_

"_You go and participate in this?"_

"_Da. It's usually very fun, though not much of a challenge. It's very, as you say, therapeutic."_

If his hands were free, Matthew would have slapped himself. That would give Russia the perfect place to fight, and seeing as using his super-human strength was out, it'd be understandable if he were injured once and a while, but seriously wounded? Not unless Russia allowed that to happen…

Which wasn't as unbelievable as it sounded.

Matthew sighed. "Katyusha," She slowly looked up, tears running down her pretty face. Canada couldn't say no to her, not when she was so upset, not when he himself felt worry gnawing at the pit of his stomach. "Can I trust you to look after Kumajirou?"

That wouldn't be hard, an eight-year-old child could do that, but the commitment would do Ukraine good, hopefully it would get her to stop crying as well. She steadily nodded, blue eyes lighting up in hope, "I will take care of him, why Matvey?"

He regretted the decision already. "I'm going to find Russia."

She smiled, crushing him to her large bosom in a giant hug, "Thank you so much, Matvey, I know you'll be able to keep my brother safe!"

_Psh, I doubt that, if anything, _I'm_ the one that needs to be saved!_

He turned back around, running through the house looking for his coat and making sure he had his wallet, phone, (and the Russian language book underneath his hoodie); he came back to the living room, finding Kumajirou and talking to him in low tones. "I'm going to be gone for a while, be good for Ukraine, please."

The bear didn't look happy, "I want to come."

"You can't, I'm probably going to have to search all over for this stupid place."

"Dangerous."

"Yeah, so you have to stay." The bear growled. "Look, I'll be back soon, hopefully tonight, tomorrow afternoon at the latest." Canada ran his hand down his friend's furred back, soothing the hairs that were standing on end with the animal's displeasure. "Please, just wait for me here. I'll be fine, I promise."

A pink tongue licked his cheek before the muzzle fell to the couch, "Careful."

Matthew smiled softly, scratching the bear behind his ear. "Thank you," He murmured.

Standing, he traveled to the door where his shoes waited for him and so were the two women. Belarus leaned against the wall, angrily watching Matthew's every move, and it was obvious she didn't want him to go. Ukraine smiled a bit, eyes red rimmed and glassy, but she seemed to have calmed. She held out an object that jingled and Matthew found it to be a set of keys.

"It's not the Ducati, obviously," She said. "But the other bikes should be fine, and it would be a lot better than taking a taxi."

Matthew hoped Russia wouldn't mind, he took the keys with a "thank you."

"Do you know where you're going?"

"Non," He admitted. "But I know a few places to start."

She held out another object, this one a piece of paper, he took it with curiosity, eyes widening and body sagging in relief when he recognized it to be a map. "It's just a map of Moscow, and a little bit outside of it, but I doubt he would so too far," Ukraine explained. Matthew nodded.

"It's great thank you. Um," He paused. "Any places I should stay away from? You know, I don't want to be caught in the middle of the worst place in town or anything. And I don't have the proper license to drive here so…" He cut off his rambling.

"Oh, yes, of course, the bad places would be around here," She pointed to a section of the city, near the right, more on the outskirts of the town. "It a red-light district, more poor and shady part of town."

_Great, just what I'm looking for, I'll start there_. "Thank you Katyusha." She smiled. "Hey, be careful around Kumakun while I'm away, he won't be in a very good mood so if he doesn't want to play don't push it okay?"

Alfred always said that the only thing keeping the polar bear tame was Matthew, and apparently, whenever the Canadian wasn't around, the bear was more wild than usual, preferring to act like a natural animal rather than a domesticated pet. Katyusha nodded, "I'll take care of him, Matvey."

With that, Matthew took a big breath and walked out the door. Dreading the night, as the sun was already setting over the horizon; it wouldn't be long before he was driving in the dark. He cursed Russia for leaving him with this mess (he was bound to have known his sisters would freak out, which means he left knowing Canada would be mobbed by a sobbing Ukraine). _What a bastard_.

The keys given to him were meant for a Kawasaki Ninja 250R bike: bright blue and meant for speed. It was a racing bike, like the Ducati, and Matthew caressed the seat, looking over the well taken care of vehicle before gently lowering himself onto it. He turned it on, feeling the vibrations and hearing the purr. It was not his favorite bike, but this machine was a beautiful piece of work.

Revving it up to warm the engine, he took another look at the map, memorizing the streets and the direction of the slums. He knew he'd regret going there but Ivan said this… Illegal fighting ring was in a shady bar. Such a place would definitely be around there, wouldn't it?

He folded the paper up, put it in his pocket with the Russian book, and put the bike into gear. Driving out of the garage, he made it to the gate, taking a right and cruising at a comfortable speed, nothing but his gut leading the way.

…Thank You…

Woo, sorry for the long wait, life kidnapped me. But I'm back! So writing will come more quickly again. We'll be getting more into action for a bit, but we're still far from the climax, so sit back, enjoy the read, and continue to leave nice reviews afterwards. :)

Really, you guys are awesome, I'm always so happy to read all your comments and to know that I'm so supported. Thank you so much!

And special shout-out to a certain anonymous reviewer: the crazy girl and her friend who send the newest addition of fan-art, this chapter is for you! Ha ha.

Oh, and random recommendations: первый by Fabled-Reverie, and Feverish by Azumizai. I've been following them a while, but I really wanted to add them here for others to enjoy. Top favorites. XD

_Translations:_

None, once again, ha ha, but the next chapter will have some, I promise.

By the way, the chapter title technically means 'fight' not offense. But the English language has so many different words that mean the same thing. Russian, not so much.

_Disclaimer: _Don't own! I wish I did though, because Canada would have more screen time, there would be lots more sex, and innuendos regarding historical facts would be more frequent.


	15. Confiance: Trust

"Привет, я ищу_-" No, that's not right. It's 'I look for' but I can't find that in this stupid book._ "Do you speak English?"

A string of Russian answered him and the man momentarily left the desk in order to hopefully find someone who _did_ speak his language. Matthew sighed, bringing a hand up to massage his temples; he had such a headache right now. This was the fourth hotel he had visited in the slums of Moscow; the buildings were starting to crumble, the paint was chipped, the carpet was either faded incredibly or ripped up to show concrete underneath. Wood looked rotten, probably infested with termites, and he'd seen roaches scrambling into cracks upon his arrival.

Overall, these places were horrible, he imagined everything was broken, unclean, and putrid smelling. If this was what their lobby looked like he didn't want to see the rooms. Unfortunately these were the only hotels around and if he could find the place Ivan was staying at he could hopefully, narrow down his area of search, or better yet, catch the Russian before he left.

Another man stumbled into the lobby from the back 'employers only' room, he was just as dirty as the surroundings, fat, greasy, and the way he leered suggestively at Matthew's form gave the Canadian a good idea of what he was dealing with. "I speak English," He said, leaning over the desk and closer to the blond, his breath positively reeked.

His accent was heavy, and Matthew could tell he wasn't real fluent in the language, but it was the best chance he'd had all day. The other concierge hardly understood him, and the man had resorted to pointing at the computers repeating Ivan's name to clue them in. It worked, sure, but it took forever for him to get his point across. "I'm looking for Ivan Braginski, is he here?"

"Ah, Ivan Braginski is here, yes?"

The sentence was poorly structured and the accent was so think it hardly sounded like English, but Matthew's eyes brightened, "Yes! He's here? Where, what room?"

"…Т- Тринадцать," He said in Russian, looking confused and over-worked. Matthew knew that word though, he had studied the numbering section of the Russian language book, he had it memorized.

"Thirteen," He translated. The man's smiled, attempting to show teeth but they were yellowed and crooked. Canada nodded, "Thank you."

He walked out of the lobby, looking to the doors on either side of the narrow hallway, counting the numbers until he found the door labeled thirteen. Immediately he started knocking on the wood, shifting his weight from side to side, waiting for it to open.

"No here," A voice said from the direction he came from, Matthew turned to see the man waddling towards him, his big body taking up most of the hallway.

"He's not here," Matthew asked, to be sure. The man nodded. "Where did he go?"

The man shrugged, Canada grew frustrated. "Which direction?" He didn't know what that meant so Matthew used gestures, pointing north, east, south, and west. "Where?"

The man pointed to the east, Matthew nodded, whispering a "thank you" as he tried to squeeze by him back to the lobby. The man's stench was horrible, Matthew held his breath, and he nearly saw red when a grubby hand caressed his abdomen across to his ass when he passed. He kept his mouth shut though, continuing out the door and to the motorcycle. He started the engine, backing it out of the parking space and avoiding the creeper's stare as the fat man stood in front of the door, watching him.

Matthew kicked off, taking a right and looking around for any type of shady bar; it had to be close if Ivan decided to stay there. Darkness had finally fallen about an hour ago and the headlight on the motorcycle led the way on the dark paved road. The streetlights above were not to be relied on; they flickered, or outright refused to work, but the buildings along either side of the road were bright with lights. Stores of all kinds, barbershops, restaurants, clubs, they featured a many range of products and people. Some streets were more crowded than others, both with cars and pedestrians.

He figured he was in the right place when a he came upon a busy intersection, a seemingly popular bar at the corner. Music blared from inside, Matthew could hear the base from his place at the red light. He turned, driving into the large parking lot and cruising around. Many of the vehicles were typical of the area; cheap, torn up, junk rides. A couple new ones, hot rods, the ones that were in "style," he actually saw hydraulics on one of them. _Tacky. _

Then he saw it, at the end, closest to the wall of the near building, the black Ducati. He almost missed it with its dark color against the shadows, Matthew would recognize it anywhere though and he swerved his bike into the space next to it, cutting the engine and climbing off.

There was a short line to get in and he was doing fine standing patiently behind some person; it seemed like it could take a few minutes to get inside. He truly didn't mind until a couple of women sauntered up to him as he waited, posing seductively in their minimal clothing. They touched his shoulders provocatively and spoke to themselves, giggling. It was sudden, and kind of a shock, seeing as they didn't know each other and they were throwing themselves on him. They talked to him in whispered words, trying to be seductive. Matthew was a bit uncomfortable in their attention and he tried to politely deny whatever they wanted.

They pouted, pressing against him and all Matthew could do was look the other way, red staining his cheeks as the women giggled. Sometime during the wait to enter the club Matthew got the feeling they weren't so much coming on to him as teasing him. They ruffled his hair, cooing to him and talking to each other with excited tones, looking him up and down. He was so embarrassed, not understanding and definitely shy under their scrutiny; they were practically undressing him with their eyes.

And they obviously weren't ashamed of their attraction to him; they were almost forceful in the way they pushed him against the wall, a particularly strong blonde leaning up to whisper something into his ear, a tongue licking his ear lobe made him shiver and holy shit, he was getting molested by women in public! "I-I'm sorry, but I'm not interested, I really can't do this, I'm sorry!"

"Ты мне нравишься."

_What did that _mean?

"No! Nyet! Sorry! Uh… прости. I can't!"

He couldn't see her pout, as her face buried into his neck, but the girl beside her whined. The line they stood in moved further down, and Matthew carefully pulled away to follow them, hands braced on the blonde's shoulders to keep her at a distance. He shook his head, "Nyet."

Her green eyes narrowed, and she put her hands at her hips, asking some kind of question that Matthew had no idea how to translate. Nonetheless, he attempted to name a reason for his denial, "Ivan Braginski. I'm looking for him. I don't have time for this, I'm sorry, you're very lovely girls, but I can't."

He could tell the women didn't understand, but her eyes brightened eventually, and she turned to her brunette friend, saying something, "Разве он гей?"

They seemed to have come to a decision and they turned to him with a smile, "Это так мило!"

The blonde threw herself on him again, and he grunted, stuttering and sighing, thinking she didn't get the message at all. _Were all Russian women so… forceful?_ But she stood on her own a second later, reaching up to thread her fingers into his hair, _it's always the hair!_

She mussed up his soft waves, giggling as she gently disorganized the strands into a mess, then she unzipped the coat around him, much to his protest, and reached to his pants (Matthew just about had a heart attack) and tucked in the side of his T-shirt, leaving the other side out. When done, she stepped back to get another look at him, smirking and licking her lips like she was hungry. Matthew blushed wondering if this was this an attempt to make him look good or something. Why?

Of course, one was supposed to 'look good' when going to a club, after all, the point of going was to socialize, meet new people, have fun. Places like these were widely used by singles as well, looking for a good time with new, attractive others… to have sex (the building most likely had bathrooms, bedrooms, and storage rooms the manager didn't mind lending out). Being in such a hurry to go after Ivan, Matthew hadn't given much thought to his look; faded jeans were a bit baggy, his boots were coming untied, and that big jacket of his was meant to keep him warm, it wasn't exactly a fashion statement so it hid his form rather well.

The girls looked impressed with what he hid underneath though, and while he was a bit afraid of them, he was flattered that they thought him worthy of pursuing. He gave them a small smile, keeping with the line and hurriedly led to the entrance where a man stood, checking IDs and collecting fees.

It was rather pricy for such a dump, and he was skeptical at first until he walked inside. Compared to the outside, the interior was in much better shape. Dull wood met his feet but in some places carpet was added in, like the restaurant area to the left. Not star quality food by any means, but a place with tables and servers. It was different from the bar at least, which was located just beside it; most people flocked to the stools to get their drinks ranging from the hard liquor to the light and fruity.

With his headache and the stress that had been on his shoulders lately, a drink sounded really good at the moment. He strolled to the bar, avoiding the huge dance floor that took up the other half of the room. The music, although loud enough to make his head throb a bit in protest, was actually pretty modern and if he had been in the mood, Matthew could see himself dancing to it.

He ordered a margarita, hoping it would be as good as the ones he'd had in America. No matter how much Alfred complained about Mexico, the Hispanic influence had spread, and they knew their alcohol. Matthew remembered times where he'd gotten plenty drunk on the sour lemon drink, sitting on one of the many beaches after a long day dealing with his brother.

The scenery was way too beautiful to be associated with such a loud mouthed idiot… But then again, even the land was unpredictable and exotic; the ocean's mood, the earthquakes, the tornados. That was just the natural stuff, don't even get him started on the people, wired on energy drinks and coffee- I mean sure, there were diversities, not everyone was a nutcase, but let's face it, there wouldn't be a Starbucks in every city if they weren't _used_ right? New York had them everywhere!

A glass with a wide base, skinny handle, and bowl top slid in front of him and he paid the necessary price before lifting it to his lips, licking the salt off the rim as the liquid slid into his mouth. Almost instantly, his jaws locked as the sour of the lemon and triple sec was tasted; it was good. Probably not as good as the ones he'd had near the Mexico border but… wow, he was pleasantly surprised. _Now to find that bastard._

An arm slipped around his shoulders and he jumped a bit, looking over his shoulder to see the blonde girl from before. He groaned, not knowing how he could tell her that he was _not interested_, and if she could kindly _leave him alone_. She smiled coyly, looking to the left where a random man had sat beside him. "Ivan Braginski," She asked and Matthew shook his head reverently as said man threw them a wink.

"Um… Ivan Braginski is fighting. You know," He gave a few punches to the air then pointed to the floor, seeing as Ivan had said the fights were staged in the basement. She looked shocked, which perhaps meant that she understood that? _Ugh, I'm tired of all these communication barriers, why is Russian so hard?_

He felt like banging his head on the bar in front of him… repeatedly.

Instead he took a rather large gulp of the margarita.

The girl beside him jumped in place excitedly, speaking in her difficult language too fast for Matthew to even try and listen to anymore. Her brunette friend was strangely missing, he noticed, but it wasn't like he could ask about that.

Then she attempted to pull him from his stool by the arm, and making sure to take his drink, Matthew grumped as he was led across the room, hoping the girl wasn't heading for the dance floor or worse, a dark hole where she would possibly attempt to rape him. That would be difficult to explain to the police, even if they could understand him, _"I got raped by a girl." _

"_Oh… and… you wanted to file a complaint about that sir?"_ He left like making a rather frustrated scream thinking about how that conversation would go down. What was _wrong_ with the world nowadays?

It was a relief that she went around the massive crowd, steering clear of the grinding, laughing, sweating group and heading to the other side. There were sets of bathrooms to the right, but the girl took him left where a large bouncer stood guarding a metal door. Much to Matthew's chagrin she stopped in front of him, pulling Matthew close in order to hug him tightly, and she purposely pulled him too low, enough so that his cheek coincidentally rested on her breasts.

He squeaked, face turning a bright red, _What was with this woman?_ He was going to have to talk to Russia about his civilians. Was this normal?

The bouncer stepped aside and the girl immediately leaped for the door, dragging Matthew with her, face still way too close to her chest for his comfort. The door opened to reveal a wide staircase leading into the ground. Matthew was let go as the girl took his hand, dragging him down the steps as he took another drink of his alcohol.

He was more aware of his surroundings than he made himself out to be though; he recognized the steady noise from downstairs that grew louder with every step. It sounded like people, cheering and booing and just being loud, it had a different sound from the music above and as they grew closer to the source the world outside muted, until all one could hear was the roar of people.

The Canadian narrowed his eyes at some others that shared the stairway. There was a couple to the left that had laid down on the incline, kissing and moaning. Matthew couldn't tell how far they'd gone, but it was safe to say they'd go all the way if left undisturbed.

To the right were a couple of men speaking in low, suspicious tones and Matthew's eyes noticed an exchanging of a small package, round pills wrapped in a candy-like wrapper, it looked like a popular treat in the Americas; smarties or sweet tarts. That wasn't candy though, and Matthew doubted the main ingredient was any form of sugar.

He was led even further into the basement until the staircase ended in a huge room with a wall of people blocking the view of what it held. Unlike upstairs where the people danced and grinded together, these people were either yelling excitedly or angrily. They jumped up and down, pumped their fists, and Matthew could see a riot happening in the near future. Most of these people were male, but a few women were scattered among them, and they were just as rowdy as the men.

The blonde girl led him into the room, sliding along the wall to escape the crowd but Matthew knew that eventually they'd have to jump into the fray. She suddenly stopped, pointing above the crowd to the far wall and Matthew's eyes followed, coming upon a television screen that seemed to show what was happening at the center of the room. A stage, much like a boxing ring, square and elevated just a bit, tethered lines acting as barriers, stood in the middle of the large rambunctious crowd. Unlike boxing though, this fight had no rules other than 'no killing or maiming' so the two men currently fighting where not afraid of using a move that would be termed illegal.

Matthew also noticed a lack of referee; the only people in the ring were the two who were dueling it out. Standing on his tiptoes to see over the taller Russians, he peered at the screen, trying to catch a good look at the two men who were grappling at each other. One had cropped black hair, and the other had light blond… it looked like Ivan.

But then the man got a particularly hard punch to the jaw, falling to the floor on his back, and the face was not similar to one Ivan Braginski at all. _Damn, I was hoping that was him_. He would have deserved a sucker punch like that.

After a few seconds people realized that the man was knocked out cold and one of the men in the crowds climbed the ropes to pour what looked to be beer on the fighter's face. The blonde-haired person woke with a start, looked around with wide eyes, a slacked jaw, breathing heavily and shivering with the sweat, adrenalin, and fear. He yelled something aloud that was lost in the noise of the crowd, but everyone understood that he was forfeiting when he stood, giving his opponent a little nod to acknowledge the loss.

People cheered or booed, depending on whom they had placed bets on.

The blond left the stage and Matthew wondered how they decided who would go next, however the method, it wasn't long before another body replaced the other, sliding through the ropes and centering himself on the stage, facing the winner of the last round.

Canada blinked, not surprised to recognize the Russian, it was Ivan alright, he knew that shade of hair, and though his face wasn't clearly shown on the screen, the scars that could be seen on his shirtless form were good markers as well. It did come as a shock to see the man go without a scarf, though he probably took it off to keep it from getting dirty; it was just strange. From the screen above, he could only see slight shading around the neck as proof that the marks were there.

The black haired man looked intimidated; he was slightly smaller in size and the scars coupled with the way Ivan held himself made it clear he had experience. He was very smart to be wary, too bad for him though, the fight was already decided, and everyone was guaranteed to lose against Ivan.

A movement at his arm, and he was reminded of the blonde that led him here. He nudged her, pointing to the screen, "That's Ivan Braginski."

Her eyes grew wide and she looked from Matthew to the screen. Back and forth before smiling, "Cексуальный," And together they watched the fight, Canada staring at the screen with a focus usually reserved for his Hockey games.

Despite Ivan's large size he moved quick, as the black haired man struck out his fist; the form was strong, and the man obviously held power, but Russia effortlessly dodged. Stepping away from his opponent in a wide arch, he looked over the fighter, assessing strengths, weaknesses, and holes in the defenses. For a few moments all Russia did was dodge the performed attacks against him, in total control of the match, and when he had decidedly understood his adversary's style his determination could be felt as well as seen. Matthew's attention was captured in that moment, waiting for the move that would end the match as soon as it had begun.

The black haired man swiveled on his heel, throwing a perfect punch; once Ivan ducked the in-coming collision he could send a powerful jab into the open side, hitting the kidney and ending the fight easily. Or he could go down low, kicking the legs out from under him, leaving the man vulnerable on the floor, awaiting and unprepared for the attacks afterward. Matthew could already see the different moves, the way Ivan could go.

However, Ivan did none of those. He seemed to have suddenly gone rigid, frozen in place as the punch flew into him, connecting with his jaw in a powerful collision that would have been clearly heard if the room was quiet enough.

The next few seconds went by in a blur as Matthew stood there, gaping at the screen, millions of thoughts and emotions going through him. "No, that shouldn't have happened! What is he _doing_?"

Ivan went down, falling onto the thin mat was probably wasn't any more padded than concrete and the black haired man jumped on the chance to gain the upper hand. Throwing himself on the Russian, fists pounding as he straddled the light blond. Ivan was barely putting up a fight to get him off, and from the vantage point of the camera Matthew couldn't see if all the punches connected.

Things were happening so fast, two punches per second, and Canada was still trying to comprehend what he was seeing, to understand it. There was no way Ivan was unable to win this fight; he'd had it won before it started! His opponent may have been good by human standards, and without the use of superhuman strength, he'd be quite a worthy foe, but there was no chance, none at all, that this should have been able to happen!

Ivan let that punch connect, that was obvious, that _had_ to have been what happened, but _why_? Was it to keep up pretenses? I mean, it'd be hard to explain how a single man could come in and single handedly take out every fighter in the crowd without breaking a sweat… in that way it made sense. Or it could be because he wanted to fight on even ground; the black haired man was tired and already bleeding from the face from his earlier matches. Perhaps it was to make things more challenging; let the man think he's down, give him an injury that would make things more difficult.

"_Matvey, I mean broken bones and deep gashes, not little cuts and bruises."_

Would he really go so far for that? None of those reasons seemed very valid for taking it to this degree. But the fight on screen hadn't turned into his favor yet, and the crowd was going crazy, screaming at the two to either continue wailing on him, or get up and fight back. Nothing changed though, and Ivan wasn't tapping out, taking the hits without complaint.

"Ivan, come on!"

_How long had it been? A Minute? Two? Get _up_ Russia!_

Finally, Ivan started to fight back; he rolled, throwing the man off and standing once more, though he stumbled trying to right himself. Canada could see the dark red color of blood; it covered almost half of Ivan's face stemming from an open gash at the left brow where knuckles had torn apart the skin. Matthew could not tell how deep it was, and head wounds were known to bleed heavily, but he still worried. More blood dripped from his lip, and it dribbled off his chin onto the floor that, unsurprisingly, already looked slick from skirmishes before.

Now that he was up, Canada hoped he'd start getting serious, start fighting back, but instead, he half-heartedly dodged a punch, and completely left himself open for a sharp front kick in the abdomen. He was flung back to the ropes surrounding the ring. The black haired man made a dive to keep him on the floor, and possibly start another beat down like the last, but Russia turned away before he could be pinned and stood once again.

Canada worried his lip, stock-still in his place on the outskirts of the crowd, leaning against the bare concrete wall and transfixed on the screen, muttering things now and then and _not understanding_ what he was seeing. Russia was strong, he was smart, and he was _prideful_. Losing or showing weakness was _not_ something the Russian would allow- and if there was anything Matthew knew, it was that Ivan would never let himself look so defeated. It was wrong, everything was wrong.

Just as Matthew felt like he'd seen enough (he couldn't watch this, this was _not_ Ivan he was seeing), Russia pulled his fist back, bringing it forward with speed and precision. It collided with the attacker's jaw, sent him reeling back in shock- Ivan followed, grabbing a fistful of black hair, the strands just long enough to hold on. He guided the head down, straight into his raised knee, the impact hard enough to crush bone.

When Ivan let go, the man crumbled to the floor, face covered in red, seemingly from a broken nose (probably broken in many places), but he wasn't dead, just knocked out cold.

It took all of three seconds for that to happen, and the crowd had to catch up with the events before letting out a deafening roar of approval. Ivan stayed where he was, face blank as he brought a hand up to wipe some blood out of his eye.

Matthew let out a sigh of relief, hoping that Russia was either done being a punching bag, or done fighting.

To his dismay another man jumped into the ring as the other one was being dragged off to seek medical attention (Who was going to treat him, one of these brutes? He doubted a doctor was here). This guy was huge, about the same size as Ivan, bigger around the arms even with massive thighs and hard abs. He had no neck with the amount of muscles this guy had on, and he made a big deal about revving up the crowd while stepping on stage; definitely a big ego. As one of the rules, shoes were taken off, so he wore none, and no weapons were allowed so belts and chains were taken off the baggy army-colored cargo pants he had on.

He had a cocky grin on his face, and Matthew wanted nothing more than to wipe it off; he hated those guys who thought they were so tough. He thought; _Ivan could take him, he may have strength, but he was not built for speed, and the bigger they were, the harder they fell_.

Come kind of message was given and the big guy confidently got into a defensive position similar to a boxer, he hopped on his feet and traveled around Russia like he was in total control. Matthew snuffed, annoyed at the silly actions, miffed that the man was so arrogant as to believe he had this won.

A sloppy, _sloppy_ punch was thrown, and inwardly Canada was screaming at how this man dared to _presume _himself so high and mighty.

And then promptly saw red when Ivan let himself get sucker punched, _again_. "Foutu bordel! Non! Russia, you stupid- _what are you doing_?"

Another punch, more blood, Russia was down and the big giant stood over him; unlike the black haired man before, this guy didn't attempt to lower himself down to Ivan's level, like he was _beneath_ rolling around on the floor, despite the fact that this was a fight, and instead used kicks. Solid, unblocked blows connected with Ivan's ribs, repeatedly, and all Ivan did in reaction was bring his forearms up to keep the kicks from hitting his face.

Ivan curled in on himself, the big man laughed, and Canada screamed in frustration. Not even noticing, he passed his margarita glass to the girl at his arm and then flew into the crowd in front of him, shouldering by a group of rowdy men and pushing others away so as to get by.

Inside the crowd, he couldn't see the television, and he was momentarily blind as to his surroundings, seeing only the dark shadows of the people around him, moving and shifting like the sea, and Matthew was lost in it. All he could do was keep pushing and shoving through, dodging flailing arms and potentially fatal elbows, he tried to keep in a straight line, and it was sudden when he reached the edge. He was given a close up view of the fight, only to see nothing had changed. The giant was still shoving his foot into Ivan's torso, without miss, and the man held nothing back either.

"Ru-" He was cut off by a swinging arm knocking his glasses askew, he barely kept them on his face, knowing that if he lost them, he'd probably never get them back. "Russia!"

Nobody heard him; his voice was too whispered, even as he yelled, the roar of the people around him too loud. He still tried, "Russia, wake up, fight back, what are you doing?"

Another kick and Ivan let out a strangled yelp, blood leaking from his mouth and splattering on the mat as he coughed. Canada stared in horror, not comprehending. _R-Russia. Why are you letting this happen?_

Then he sort of… lost control. Without thinking, he leaped forward, gliding underneath the ropes and sprinting the short distance to the giant towering above Ivan. He didn't think to reign in his strength, and so when he pushed the man's shoulder to get him away from the downed nation at his feet, he used a bit too much, knocking him off balance and throwing him across the ring and over the ropes. He fell into the crowd where they had no choice but to catch him; a whole group of observers falling underneath the weight and force.

Matthew gave no thought as to how much trouble he could get in for that, and knelt down to grab Russia's huge shoulders, shaking him rather forcefully. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? What is wrong with you- I never thought you were such a masochist- get up! You will _not_ do this around me, you bastard."

Violet eyes shaded by the deep red of blood looked up to him in dawning realization. "M-Matvey?"

"Yes, now get up!" He pulled insistently on the man's shoulders, getting the man to sit up and then continuing to pull until the Russian stood, swaying a bit on his feet. The crowd booed around him and Canada shot them a nasty glare, "Shut up, all of you, you spineless little guppies."

"Matvey," Ivan called over the noise, coughing a bit as more blood coagulated in his mouth. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving your ass apparently, you call that a fight? You have thousands of years more experience on that guy, and on the other one too, seriously, _what_ are you doing letting them pound you?"

"This is none of your bu-"

"I will knock your teeth out myself if you finish that sentence," Matthew interrupted, his voice was quickly started to become hoarse as he never spoke so loud. "We're leaving."

"Нет, I'm in the middle of a fight," Ivan tried to put on a glare, but Matthew wasn't intimidated in the least.

"Looks like you're in the middle of getting beat up like a child pushed around by bullies. If you can't fight then I'm taking you out of here, you're already injured, I'm sure you've broken a rib and-"

"Matvey," Ivan interrupted and he started to look a bit panicked for some reason, maybe because of the crowd? They sure were impatient, being overly loud in their booing. _They can suck it up!_ The giant was struggling between the ropes back into the ring, and he did not look happy, he glared at Matthew and Ivan, embarrassed and not believing that such a small man could shove him so hard. His shoulder rolled, and he hid a wince; Matthew couldn't bring himself to care if he broke bone, he wasn't sorry at all.

Mauve eyes roamed Russia's face and chest, taking in the rapidly darkening shades that told where bruises were going to form; swelling from the eyebrow and just underneath the left pectoral caught his eye and he just _couldn't believe he had witnessed that_. "We have to get you out of here, there could be internal bleeding and you punctured a lung or something, you're coughing up blood!"

"Matvey," Ivan repeated, and a hand came up to touch his cheek, coming away with a sheen; something wet that was not red. "Stop crying."

He was crying? Since when? He brought his hands up, both of them smeared with a bit of red after touching Ivan. He put his fingers to his cheeks, feeling the wet tracks and rubbing them fiercely, destroying the evidence and taking a deep breath. "Let's go."

"I can't leave."

"Well I can't watch you lose like this, you're better than that," He yelled up at the man, glaring through his stubborn eyes that continued to water every time he thought about what he'd seen and just a glance at Russia reminded him.

"I always win," He said quickly, trying to hurry the conversation so he could sooth the crowd's desire for more blood. The big man to his right looked impatient, crossing his arms and grinding his teeth, he wondered if the man would attack Canada in revenge for the push against him.

"After you've been pummeled?"

Russia growled, taking the blond by the arm and pushing him, trying to be gentle but firm at the same time as Canada wasn't exactly willing to leave. "Sit at the sidelines, give me a few more minutes and I'll be there after I finish this."

Matthew looked like he wanted to argue but he merely huffed, sliding through the ropes and off the stage. Russia gave him a "stay there" look before turning to his opponent. They had a short conversation where the giant sneered condescendingly and Ivan gave him a blank reply in return before the two got back in position. Things took a more even balance this time; the big man threw punches, Ivan either dodged or blocked depending on what was easiest.

He was still holding back though; the single punch Ivan sent was slow compared to what he was truly capable of, and the giant, even though he was incredibly slow himself, still had time to block it. Despite the fact that Matthew wanted nothing more than for Ivan to step up his game and metaphorically slaughter that cocky son of a bitch, he was glad the Russian wasn't taking any more hits.

Ivan dodged masterfully, not a strike came close to its mark and the giant grew frustrated with every miss. "Сохраняй спокойствие," He yelled and a rare kick was thrown out.

Ivan turned his body, the leg sliding passed him, he grabbed the limb before it could contract, and keeping the fighter immobile as Russia sent a retaliating kick of his own, straight into the thick torso. The foot connected in the middle of the chest, and it would have thrown the giant back if his ankle hadn't been in such a hold, instead, his remaining leg gave out and he crashed to the floor with a dull boom.

Canada let out a whispered "yes" pumping his fist in the air a bit even while sniffling the last of his tears away.

It wasn't over yet, and Ivan allowed the man to get back up, red staining the guy's cheeks; anger embarrassment, heat, no matter the reason, the face resembled a tomato, and on such a big body… he looked ridiculous. _Kick his ass, Russia._

Three jabs to the abdomen- right, left, right- a sweeping scissor kick, and the big man was right back on the ground, yelling obscenities. This time, it was Ivan's turn to kick them while they were down, and he did so; he threw his leg out like he was a football player, punting the ball clear across the field, only, his foot meet bare flesh, and the force sent the giant rolling around the ring.

Ivan stayed where he was at, waiting to see if his opponent would be able to shake that off. The man was able to get up to his knees before grimacing, holding a hand to his side and shaking his head, tapping out.

The crowd cheered and Canada sighed in great relief, beyond happy that this was over. Ivan nodded to the people around the ring before tapping out as well from the next fight as a new, fresh opponent jumped onto the stage.

He made his way over to Canada, ducking under the ropes and sliding to the ground. "Come on," He grunted, and he started weaving through the people, Matthew hot on his heals so as to not lose him in the sea of rowdy spectators.

Once free, Ivan continued for the staircase, not even bothering to look and see if Matthew was still behind him. They climbed the steps and at the top of the stairs Ivan spoke to the bouncer at the door, asked for something that the man turned around to retrieve. It was the first time Matthew noticed a closet there. The big guard came back with the familiar thick tan coat, and Ivan put it on carefully, so as not to get too much blood on it.

Turning to him for the first time he looked over Matthew once, for whatever reason Canada didn't know. "Did Katyusha or Natalia come with you?"

"Non, it's just me." He nodded turning for the door. "W-wait, you're bleeding, we should clean you off first!"

"I'm fine, Matvey, shut up."

The blonds' mouth promptly clicked shut in a frown as he followed the irate Russian passed the dance floor and out of the club. The night had gotten considerably colder and Matthew zipped up his jacket once more as they walked to the parking lot. "How did you get he-" Ivan cut of his own question as he recognized the blue Ninja bike beside the black Ducati. He tossed a glare over his shoulder and Mathew shifted sheepishly.

"Ukraine gave me the keys, said you w-wouldn't mind. I'm sorry."

"If I find a scratch on it, I'll kill you," Was the reply and Matthew nodded, taking the threat as it was as he straddled the bike. "Follow me, I won't come find you if you get lost."

Nodding, deciding not to mention he already knew where Ivan was staying, they both started their engines and carefully drove away from the bar. Nothing much had changed besides the temperature and lack of people. If this side of town was deserted before, then it was a ghost town now. Stores had closed for the night and people were deep in sleep by now (lucky them).

Matthew was thankful though that there was no traffic, and the night was calm and cool and _quiet_ compared to all the noise inside the club. If the steady roar of the engine underneath him couldn't be heard, Matthew would have worried he'd gone deaf. Everything just seemed so serene now.

The situation hadn't changed though, and the images of Ivan down and bleeding, and the face he had made when one of his ribs cracked- it would forever be burned into his mind, and Matthew still didn't understand. All he could do was wonder, and wait until he could properly ask Ivan about what had transpired (and then kick him in the shins, because no matter the reason, he deserves it).

The cheap, motel with the dirty fat man came into view and Matthew followed Ivan into its small parking lot, stopping next to him and shutting off the engine. For some reason Ivan didn't get off his bike though, and Matthew avoiding looking at him as dry blood caked his face in dull brown streaks, almost black in the lack of light- he was way more frightening than usual.

"Why did you come, Matvey," He asked, voice stern.

"Ukraine was panicking, she said you'd come back all injured and at first I didn't believe her. I mean, you said you went out and fought, but… I didn't understand why she would say you had broken bones. Until _now_…"

Ivan gave a small sigh, "You shouldn't have come."

"Well, this could all have been solved it you'd _talk_ to someone about where you were going, or at least _have your phone on_! I tried calling you, five different times, I believe."

There was a brief silence before Ivan finally swung his leg over the bike to stand, "Go back, Matvey. Tell my sisters I am fine and will be back day after tomorrow."

"What? You said tomorrow morning you'd be back! Why suddenly two days?"

"Because I didn't finish what I came to do."

"Get beat up?"

Ivan gave him a glare, "I don't expect you to understand, Matvey, but do not assume."

"I'd like to try and _understand,_ Russia, but you make it very difficult to when you don't _explain_ what's going through your head. I'm not a mind reader! I've been trying to help you but you disappear or do things that just make me even more confused. I understand if you don't want to talk about them but you don't have to make everyone sick with worry."

"Who's worried? My sister? She's always worried. Belarus doesn't care as long as she gets to _marry_ me in the end. And nobody else cares enough to even ponder how I spend my free time, Matvey."

"That's not true," Matthew protested. "I've been here and I honestly do wonder, I'm curious, and when I saw that fight I was _worried_, and confused and _hurt_ because seeing you let them _beat_ you was not something I'd ever expect to see!"

"You weren't supposed to see it, Matthew!" The lack of Russian variant in his name caused them both to pause in their argument that had gotten louder with every sentence. Russia lowered his voice so he wasn't yelling and possibly waking any neighbors up. "That was a secret. Nobody was supposed to be there to see that. It was for me alone. When I told you I went out to fight I surely didn't think you'd be so _stupid_ as to follow me or disrespect the fact that I wanted my space."

"Disrespect," Matthew repeated. "Worrying for your health and respecting your space are two matters entirely. I went there to find you, ask you to call your sister and check up on you, it's not like I was there to spy."

Ivan turned away, tired of the conversation, "Go back."

"Non," Matthew replied, climbing off the bike and following the Russian to the hotel doors. Ivan turned around to glare at him. "All these secrets, the way you're defending your actions, and what I just saw back there… I want answers."

"And you believe I'm going to give them to you," Ivan answered coldly.

Faltering, Canada shifted. "Can you just… tell me what that was? Why you let this happen," He gestured to the man's wounds. Russia's eyes looked way different in this light, with the blood on his face; they were tinted a red color, and the menacing expression made him even more intimidating. However, Matthew's reaction wasn't fear but… disappointment. The Russian's unrelenting stubbornness, the cold, uncaring actions- it hurt the blond as he'd thought they were getting closer. Canada wasn't foolish to believe they'd suddenly spill all their secrets but at this point, _one _answer, was that really so much?

A full minute he waited, hoping that any second Ivan would say something, to prove that he could trust Canada enough to give him this information, no matter how dark or uncomfortable it was. Nothing came, and slowly, the Canadian's chest constricted in hurt and acceptance, he turned. "I'm sorry for bothering you, Russia," He whispered, walking back to the bike.

"Matvey," And Matthew paused, not looking back, not daring to hope. There was another moment of silence, an internal battle for Russia between speaking of this and holding his tongue. He let out a frustrated noise, running his fingers through his hair. "It's the only thing I can give back." He confided, the words in a rush to get out of his mouth before it shut for good. "I've failed my people so many times. This… is their revenge."

Canada frowned, "Why would you believe that they would want to hurt you?"

"I want to hurt me." … _Of course_, he blamed himself for everything after all, that guilt and self-hatred would eventually stem into a cycle of self-destruction.

"Russia, I may not have been here long, but your people, I can tell, are happy here. Despite the climate, the lineage, the past, they love their country. They don't hate it- they don't hate you." Ivan didn't reply. "Not everyone hates you," Matthew repeated; he wanted to make it clear. "I don't."

"You don't know me."

"I'm trying to." A snort. Matthew finally looked back to the man at the door. "It's very hard to get through your defenses and all these little quirks you have, but you've actually been very kind to me recently."

"Only because my sisters are here."

"I don't really believe that," Russia glared at him, Matthew let out a giggle. "I've enjoyed these past few days too. There may have been bumps but the amusement park, the tours, the ballet. Everything is so new and interesting. And your people are so nice too; that little girl I sat with this morning at the show, and there was this girl tonight who… well, she kind of scared me actually, are all Russian women so forceful when they want something?" _I should have thanked her; she did help me out after all._

Ivan blinked; glare fading away into confusion and a bit of amusement. "Were you accosted by my daughters, Matvey?"

"More like molested," Ivan smirked. "What does 'prass en gey' mean?" A slack jaw, several astonished blinks and a loud laugh followed the question and Matthew felt like he was being teased all over again. "What does it mean?"

"Разве он гей. S-she thought you were gay," Ivan said between laughs, leaning against the front doors.

Matthew huffed. "Well, she must have thought I was with you then because she sure was happy to lead me to the basement." The blond started to laugh as well and they shared a brief fit of giggles at the situation. Ivan's chuckle was cut off in a cough though, and he covered his mouth as the fit passed. His hand came away wet with blood. Canada flinched, walking back to stand in front of Russia. "Let me help you clean up before I leave."

Russia nodded, opening the door and walking through the lobby. Matthew recognized the man from before at the desk reading some kind of magazine, doing his best to ignore him, Matthew followed close behind Ivan as they continued down the narrow hall. The door stuck a bit while opening, making a screeching sound as they walked inside and the room was just as messy as Matthew imagined.

"You had to stay in such a disgusting place?"

"Believe it or not, this is the best place in the area," Ivan answered, sitting on the creaky bed with a sigh. "The first aid is in the nightstand. I always get one as the managers know of my… hobby."

_Planning on getting so injured_. Canada fetched the kit, digging through it to find an alcohol swab and a bandage of the appropriate size. Standing in front of the seated Ivan, he carefully started to clean the cut on the man's brow. It wasn't deep and it had stopped bleeding a while ago, but most of the brown caked substance on the Russian's face came from the gash. One hand held the white hair away from the forehead as the other dabbed at the injury.

"I need this," Ivan said, violet eyes looking up at Matthew, serious. "I won't tell you why. Just know that I need to fight."

Canada sighed, "Do you need to get so hurt?"

"Нет, that's a whole different problem. The point of the fight was that I win. I never lose, Matvey, even though I let them hit me more."

Nodding softly, Matthew wiped at the dried blood on his cheek. "If you need this, for whatever reason, fine, but don't hide it… please." He smiled a bit. "Katyusha was seriously worried. She cried, you know."

"She did?" A sigh, "She always cries, really, you'd never think she's my older sister with the way she acts." Even though he was disapproving, Ivan honestly looked guilty for being the cause of her tears.

With a clean face, Russia was looking less like a psycho-killer and more like a victim of insomnia; shadows under the eyes, sagging shoulders. Matthew told him to take the coat off and he did as Matthew turned his attention to the man's side where a rib was found to be cracked. Slender fingers felt around the skin that was swelling and bruising, tracing the fracture, and Matthew put a hand in the middle of the chest to see if the diaphragm was rising and falling as it should. Both sides moved evenly, so no more than two ribs were injured.

He returned to the first aid kit, taking out some adhesive tape and cutting lengths with his teeth. Gently, he connected one end at the center of the Russian's chest, wrapping it around the fractured rib and stretching it to the back, stopping at the spine. "You know, I'm kind of disappointed," He said casually. Ivan looked at him confused. "Even though I came to the bar to talk to you, I was expecting an epic fight where you showed off all kinds of jedi tricks."

Four more tapes of equal length were placed on either side of the first, running parallel to each other to restrict movement but not hinder breathing. "I've heard stories of your great battles, against Turkey, Sweden, and Germany. They talk about you like you're some indestructible force of nature. I was all so excited to see you kick ass."

Russia gave a chuckle. "My apologies then."

Matthew smiled, putting everything up neatly and returning the kit to where he'd gotten it, opening the drawer and seeing the white scarf Ivan had safely put away before leaving. It was folded with care and Matthew couldn't help but touch the fabric, feeling the soft material. "You're better than you think," He said. "People look up to you."

"Why?"

"Because you've gone through so much, you've been here so long. I'm still young and inexperienced," He wrapped his arms around his knees resting his chin on them as he pondered. "I don't understand everything yet, and I've already been alive for so long compared to humans." He locked eyes with Ivan. "You're very strong, both in body and mind."

"Body yes, but mind, no. I tend to think of myself as broken."

"You're not," Matthew chided. "Perhaps you just haven't tried to fix it." They sat in silence for a few moments before Canada stood. "Keep coughing," He said. "It'll get out all the fluids, and try not to move too much. If you have problems breathing, call me I guess."

"Da."

"And get some sleep," He said over his shoulder, a soft smile on his face as he shut the door behind him. Ivan watched him leave and in a few seconds he heard the muted hum of the motorcycle until it faded down the street. Russia sighed, falling gently onto his back on the bed. He didn't get into the covers, unconvinced that they were clean enough and just stared at the ceiling. The tension from the fight ebbed from his body and his eyes drooped. He was so tired. Sleep sounded so very good; he just hoped he could get some.

"_Rus…"_ His chest constricted, and he opened his eyes, looking around him quickly to be sure he was still in the hotel room. He was, and he was alone, it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He took deep breathes, wincing as his side protested. _Please, let me sleep_.

"_You want to make me happy, don't you?"_

He groaned, reaching into the nightstand, putting out his scarf and wrapping it hastily around his neck, covering the exposed scars and burying his face in the folds. He needed to think of something, something strong that would keep the voice and those memories away. Something happy or complex.

"_Not everyone hates you," _Matthew… that was a good thing to think about; him and his confounding nature.

The blue of his eyes when he cried: scared and worried for _him_. They sparkled like amethysts, beautiful and pure. He was truly innocent and Ivan wondered how such a boy could exist, much less care so much for him of all people.

His eyes closed. The image of a kind smile on that soft face burned in his memory.

A few hours later, with five hours of sleep, he awoke with a clearer mind, turning slowly to see the sun shining through the blinds. They had gotten back in the early morning… Ivan wondered if Matthew would be able to train without him.

He sat up, standing to gather the few things he'd taken with him, putting on a shirt, buttoning up his coat, and checking out at the front desk, he took in a breath of fresh air and drove back home.

…

Matthew groaned into his pillow, so very happy to be back in a bed, settling in for a long sleep to recover from the long night. Kumajirou happily let the Canadian snuggle, licking the blond's forehead and looking his friend over for injuries. Matthew mumbled a bit, falling to sleep quickly.

"Matvey," What had it been, five minutes? It certainly felt like it. "Get up, we have training, or did you forget?" One eye opened to see Russia leaning over him and Matthew rolled away. "Get up."

"No. You're hurt, 'm not movin'."

"Just because I'm hurt doesn't mean I can't train you. Now move, before I make you."

Whining, Canada sat up, pouting. "I changed my mind, I hate you."

Russia smiled, showing teeth. "You hadn't seen anything yet."

…Thank you…

Here's chapter 15~!

I've had a few people asking how long I plan on making this, so I decided to answer here; I have everything sketched out, but it's not separated into chapters. So basically, however many chapters it takes to finish the story depends on how much detail and work I put into it. If I had to guess, I'd say 40 chapters, maybe more. :)

So I've got a long way to go! Hope you all stick with me. Ha ha.

We should ban together and destroy the cock-blocker that is Belarus! Woman is gettin' on my nerves. XD

Reviews are appreciated!

_Translations: _

Ты мне нравишься (Russian): I like you

Прости (Russian): Sorry

Разве он гей (Russian): Is he gay

Это так мило (Russian): That's so cute

Сексуальный (Russian): Sexy

Сохраняй спокойствие (Russian): Stay still

Foutu bordel (French): That's fucked up

(Big thank you to RusCSI, my hero, for these translations) And I'm starting to feel bad about using French only for profanity, it's like I'm abusing the language. Hopefully I can get Mattie to talk in more sentences with less of a potty mouth.

_Disclaimer:_ Still don't own anything regarding the characters, clubs, places, countries, _nothing_. But it's on my birthday wish-list. :)


	16. Недоверие: Mistrust

Matthew hit the floor with a loud thud and a rush of air escaping from his lungs, leaving him breathless and fighting to get it back. His arm was in a stronghold twisted in an unnatural way as a knee dug into his sternum. "Ow, I give," He whispered.

Ivan loosened his grip and supported his own weight instead of leaning all of it on the boy below him. "Can you copy those movements, Matvey?"

"I think so."

Russia pulled him to his feet. "I'm going to let you try," Canada nodded, going over the steps in his head. When he first learned they would be going into techniques, Matthew worried it would be something uninteresting, after all, he already knew the moves- or how to brawl, as Ivan called it, seeing as there was no uniformity. But so far, with the demonstrations (with him as the dummy, unfortunately), Matthew remained surprised and intrigued.

What Ivan called Sambo was certainly different than the martial arts he was used to; this one focused on quickly subduing the enemy, focusing on tearing tendons, breaking bones, and rendering the attacker motionless. Sambo itself was an acronym for "self defense without weapons" and Matthew was clearly starting to realize the possibilities this knowledge could open up. It was realistic; fast and to the point, because in a traditional street-fight one doesn't have time to worry about following certain steps; this was all about instinct and how to deal with situations as they come.

Matthew got into position, ready for Ivan's punch that he would use as leverage to flip the huge man to the floor. The punch came, incredibly fast, as Ivan made it clear that he wouldn't make it easy to pin him down. Matthew stepped to the side just in time, feeling the air brush across his cheek from the near miss. He stepped closer, taking the outstretched arm, and feeling Ivan's chest against his back, he twisted, pushing until Russia's body lifted off the ground and fell in front of him.

He hit the mat with a grunt, his arm caught in the hold, twisted from his position. Before Russia could get back up, Matthew fell down, placing his knee at the center of the chest. Breathing hard, as they'd been doing this for hours already, he looked up, and immediately after seeing the grimace on the Russian's face, went into a rush of apologies, "Désolé! Did I throw you too hard? Your ribs-"

"Fine Matvey," He said, and Matthew scrambled to get off and help the man up. "You're using too much of your own strength," Ivan lectured. "Get down lower so you're not lifting so much of my weight. You want to use the minimum effort. Try again."

Canada wanted to argue but he knew it would be useless; it seemed that Ivan only pushed himself harder when he was injured; like he wasn't worried about the risk he took in worsening his state.

They got back into their stances, Ivan playing the aggressor and taking the lead, flashing forward with a punch that Matthew tried and failed to catch, as it was too fast. A right kick connected with his side and Matthew gasped as Ivan took full advantage of the hole in his defense, ramming into him with all the force of a freight train, taking him to the mat, arm holding him down at the neck, so close to crushing his windpipe.

Canada tapped out, Ivan eased off, giving him some space, before he struck out with a harsh punch to the blond's abdomen. Yelping and curling into himself a bit, Matthew took shaky breathes, his stomach churning with pain. "New encouragement," Russia chimed from above him. "Every time you fail, I'll strike you." The Canadian couldn't speak, but he groaned to show his disagreement in this new plan. "I believe it is a good idea, especially considering you would be _dead_ if this was a real fight. Now get up, we'll try again."

Matthew groaned again.

…oOo…

"Oh, Matvey, you're back."

Matthew struggled to lift his head up as he sprawled across the couch. He was so tired and sore, trying to unwind from the training session that ended not ten minutes ago. Ivan had decided to turn his body into one giant bruise, saying it was a good method of teaching and in time, Matthew would learn not to fail so often. Matthew claimed he was just sadistic.

The sofa was a bit too firm and overstuffed, but at his state it felt like he was resting on a cloud- he'd be happy on the floor if it came to that. "Yeah, Russia's back too."

She brightened considerably, "That's wonderful! I knew you could do it, he's not hurt, is he?"

Matthew frowned, wondering how much he should tell her.

"I'm not hurt, сестра," Russia to the rescue, _to keep my big mouth shut._ It was easy to pull off good health, as the pale white hair was just long enough to cover the bandage at his eyebrow and the tape around his torso couldn't be seen through the white fabric of the man's long sleeved sweater. He had taken a shower so he didn't smell like sweat and blood so, really, it looked like last night never happened.

Ivan's face peered over the couch, "Breakfast, Matvey. You are shirking your responsibilities."

Matthew stuck his tongue out at him, looking stubborn and ready to argue that fact but he forced his body up and across the room. To take his mind off the sporadic pains in his muscles as he moved, he started to hum a song, sometimes singing softly under his breath, the tempo slow and beautiful in the beginning and faster paced as the song continued. The lyrics were in French, and the words rolled off his tongue smoothly in a way that suggested he'd known the language all his life, speaking it as fluently as if it were the only form of communication he knew.

There was a special place his language held in his heart. Québécoise was important to him, even before it had been officially dubbed as his second language. It was the very first fabricated part of him, if that made sense. All the other Territories and Providences came later. Québec was the first; it was his origin.

"Beautiful song, Matvey," Ukraine said from her place at the couch, leaning over the back, smiling kindly.

Matthew blushed. "Merci, there's a beautiful violin solo that I can play rather well."

"I'd like to hear-"

"Vanya, you're back," Belarus interrupted, standing at the entrance to the living room, looking her brother over with sharp eyes. "You are well, I see."

Ivan took a sip of whatever he was drinking (Matthew dearly hoped he hadn't started on his vodka at seven o'clock in the morning), nodding absently as he was distracted by the news showing on the television. Natalia took the chance to stroll over and sit right next to him on the armchair; the distance between them a mere few inches and Ivan turned to her with a disgruntled expression, saying nothing though as she leaned against him.

"Today, may I suggest we go to the park, Vanya? I can make us a picnic and it would be simply romantic, just you and I."

"Too cold," He offered as an excuse, because if there was one thing he did _not_ want to do today, it was to be trapped alone with her in a romantic situation.

Ukraine frowned from her seat on the sofa, looking at her sister disapprovingly. "But Natalia, we should choose something we all can do together."

"You may come sister."

In the kitchen, Matthew's grip around the frying pan tightened and he configured the speed, strength, and angle he'd have to throw the heavy metal in order to knock her out for the rest of the day. He firmly kept his mouth shut though, cracking some eggs, and pretending it was a certain Belarusian's head splitting apart in his hand.

Katyusha's frown deepened, as she picked up on the tense atmosphere between Belarus and Canada. She didn't understand why her sister was so intent on leaving the Canadian out of their activities, after all, Matthew was the one to _start_ this little vacation, so for him to not be included was rude and fruitless. Matthew was the one to bring Ivan back from his emotionless state; albeit slowly, but she could tell the difference- he wasn't so sarcastic or cruel in his jokes, actually finding _humor_ in things he otherwise wouldn't have.

"Matvey," She called out, and the blond's head peeked around the wall. "Where do you wish to go?"

Blinking, surprised that he would be able to suggest something, he hummed in thought. There was the park, a picnic, maybe another movie or presentation, but there was something he'd been waiting to see since he'd heard about it days ago, "How about the racetrack?"

Ivan's gaze snapped from the television screen and those chilling purple eyes settled on him.

"You like to race, oui? I have yet to see how good you are on that monster of a bike, and you owe me a show, remember?"

The slow revealing smirk on the Russian's face let him know the man was not opposed. "So I do." Taking his bike out for a run would definitely work out some tension, and it would distance him from the leech at his side.

Katyusha smiled, "That's a great idea!" Belarus hissed something in her native tongue and Ukraine scowled at her like a mother would when her child used profanity.

Russia stood, ignoring the women and meandering into the kitchen, passing Matthew and reaching to the top of the refrigerator, bringing down a bottle of vodka (surprise, surprise). Canada scoffed, "Don't you know you're not supposed to drink and drive?"

In a bout of childishness and a mockery of Matthew, he stuck his tongue out stubbornly and Canada swatted him on the arm with a spatula, grinning.

After the group finished eating and getting ready Russia and Matthew stood by the door, waiting on the sisters and chatting about the track, at this time of day it would be empty and Ivan would have nobody to race against. So when he threw another set of keys to the blond across the narrow hall, Matthew looked shocked, barely catching them. "You take the Kawasaki."

Canada slowly smiled, excitement building, glad that he would be able to participate instead of simply observing on the sidelines. "Okay!"

Ivan paused though, looking down to the floor where Kumajirou sat at Matthew's feet patiently. "What are you going to do with him," He asked. It wasn't like the bear could properly hold on and ride the motorcycle and there were no seatbelts.

Matthew's expression didn't change though, seemingly unconcerned. "He'll be fine," He assured, and the bear nodded in agreement.

"You take Belarus."

"Wha- No way," He exclaimed.

"Da, I do not want her riding with me."

"But- no. No! She'd stick a knife in my back."

"And she'd molest _me_."

"Well, too bad, it's your fault."

Russia turned to look in the living room where the girls were just coming down, "Katyusha will be happy to ride with her little brother, da?"

"Oh, of course Vanya!"

Canada scowled, whispering a "cheater" as he slinked out the door. Ivan laughed.

It was incredibly uncomfortable to be on that bike with Belarus behind him. There suddenly wasn't enough room, no matter how much distance they tried to put between their bodies, and she insisted that one wrong word about their predicament would earn a knife in the kidney. Kumajirou was placed inside his hoodie, safe and snug, with the furry white head popping out the collar to look around (and growl at Natalia menacingly). Ukraine giggled at the sight and Russia raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"You're going too fast, slow down," The girl yelled behind them, the hands braced on his shoulders tightening warningly (she absolutely refused to hold on around the waist, was tempted to not touch him at all, but that was impossible).

"I'm going the speed limit," He yelled back to her. "Any slower and your brother will leave us behind!"

Her nails dug into his arms, "My future husband, _not_ my brother!"

The Canadian groaned. "Stop assuming you'll get married, he's never agreed to-"

"Shut up hussy, I never asked you for your opinion," She slapped him across the back and Kumajirou turned his head back to bare his teeth, no doubt if they were not going sixty miles per hour down the highway, he would have lunged and bit her face off.

"Stop it!" The bike took a slight swerve within the lane they were in and Russia looked back to them from the few yards in front. "Do you want to kill us both? Chill out!"

She glared at him hatefully, "Don't tell me what to do."

Canada glared back, gritting his teeth to keep from snapping at her, and just to make her even more agitated, he sped up, Russia still taking the lead as their speedometers climbed. In any other situation, the speed, the wind, and the refreshing temperature outside- all of it would have thrilled Matthew and this ride would have been one to remember, it definitely would have cheered him up. Unfortunately, the harlot behind him who kept screeching in his ear ruined everything.

…oOo…

The sisters climbed off the bikes once they got to the track and Belarus glared one last time at him before running to speak to her brother. Past the high walls of the safety fences, fortified to guard the spectators from any accidents, laid an oblong track made of concrete. The track was banked to either side, tilted highly in some places, and on the lengthier sides sat chicanes; blocks that the riders would have to maneuver around and small hills and sharp turns. _So it wasn't a typical race track_, Matthew observed.

"They've been servicing to dirt bikes recently," Ivan said as he stood from the Ducati, taking off the black helmet he'd been wearing.

"That would explain the setup."

"Da, it's not a problem though. Makes things more challenging," The smile sent his way was kind of creepy.

"Right," Matthew replied, taking the dark blue helmet that matched the color of the Kawasaki and hanging it off one of the handlebars.

Russia strolled to a metal door embedded in the stadium, most likely a place for the mechanics and workers of the track. He seemed to magically produce the key and the door opened to let him inside; three other countries trailed behind him.

Tools of all kinds graced one wall, and Matthew immediately took notice of the bikes the mechanics must have been working on; numbers tacked on, gleaming proudly in the fluorescent lights from above. The other side of the room looked to be machinery and setup things; a tow-truck, service vehicles, lifters. Ivan continued passed all this, on up to another door and up a winding staircase until they showed up in the announcer box.

Glass windows offered a clear view of the track and Russia went around, flipping switches on the control panel lining a wall and picking up headsets. He gave one to everyone, claiming they'd all be able to communicate now. "Katyusha, you know how to work everything?"

"Yes," She chirped.

Ivan nodded, "Belarus, stay here. Let's go Matvey."

Kumajirou wiggled, sliding under the red hoodie and falling to the floor, he waddled up to one of the chairs, climbing into it and looking out the window. "Be good, Kumachan."

"Who?"

"Canada."

"Oh."

Ukraine giggled. "Have fun, we'll be watching from up here!"

Natalia grumbled.

Matthew took the steps two at a time on his way down, trying to catch up to Ivan. "Hey, Russia, what's your fastest time?"

"Without so many obstacles, I usually make the track in three minutes. Think you can keep up?"

He grinned, "I'll be sure to give you a run for your money."

"Don't wreak my bike."

"I won't, grumpy."

After that, everything was a bit of a blur for Matthew to recall. They started their bikes, the headphones coupled with the helmets drowned out all the sound, allowing the four nations to communicate loud and clear. The motorcycles were easy and smooth to handle, even at high speeds and sharp turns. Canada leaned into the corners, following the curves carefully.

Ivan was never far away; either in front or behind; Matthew was either playing catch-up or attempting to keep his position as first place. They grew competitive, teasing and making fun of the other and _cutting each other off_, like Ivan just did in a turn. "Gah, you suck old man."

"Old, Matvey? But I thought you respected that."

"Don't even."

Ukraine giggled, "Does that mean I'm old too, Matvey?"

"As Francis would say, women age like wine, you're beautiful in your old age Katyusha."

She laughed, and Ivan huffed, "Then what do I age like?"

"Milk," He giggled. "You've never heard that expression before?"

"Нет, but thank you for the comparison."

"Aw, you're going soft, Russia."

A pause, "I'm the one winning."

Ukraine laughed some more, Matthew just became more determined to come out the victor.

…oOo…

"I _so_ could have gotten you at that turn, when you banked to the right, but you just _had_ to block me out. If anything, I would have wreaked your precious bike and you'd be blamed."

"The only reason I didn't send you barreling down the track- I was worried about the paint job."

"Oh, shut up."

"Make me, Matvey."

"Well, you won, pick where we go next. I'm hungry."

Kumajirou suddenly looked lively, "Food?"

Ukraine giggled.

"I'm not riding with him again," Belarus hissed. "I want to ride with Vanya!"

Ivan let out a quiet groan that only Matthew could seem to hear, as he stood right next to him. Katyusha looked hurt, most likely tired and fed up with trying to get everyone to stop fighting, Matthew felt sorry for her, she really did try but between Russia's stubbornness and Belarus's ambitions… that was difficult. Canada could see that Ivan was not about to give in and allow his little sister a reason to leech off him, he could also see that Belarus was going to throw another one of her tantrums if she didn't get her way.

"S-sister, please-"

"I won't ride with that hussy anymore!"

Before anybody could offer any other solutions Russia stepped forward, took Matthew by the arm, and pulled him towards the Ducati, "Then you can ride with Ukraine."

"Wha-what," Both Belarus and Canada blubbered intelligently, both in a bit of shock.

"No! Vanya-"

"Are you crazy? Just take her-"

"Little Ivan, it's been a while since I drove such a bike-"

"Shut _up_!" Everyone silenced under his roar and the violet eyed glare sent their way. "This is the arrangement, get over it."

Everyone sighed, wanting to argue the point more but knowing it was in all of their best interests to keep Ivan happy. Reluctantly, and with a last long look at the Kawasaki, Matthew handed the keys to Ukraine. He tucked Kumajirou back under his hoodie, making sure he was comfortable, before taking a deep breath and climbing on the Ducati behind the seated Ivan. "She's going to kill me for this," He grumbled.

Russia shrugged, unconcerned, "I really don't want her to ride with me."

"Really? I couldn't tell with all the desperate actions to keep her away."

Canada couldn't see through the dark tinted visor of the helmet, but he assumed Ivan was pouting when the man defended himself in a bit of a childish whine, "She scares me."

The bike underneath purred as the engine started and Matthew grabbed a fistful of the tan coat gathered around Russia's waist for support. They kicked off, Ukraine and Belarus following behind them, and once they hit the open road it actually felt really nice. The air was slightly warmer in the afternoon and Matthew leaned back slightly to feel more of the wind.

He laughed as Ivan's scarf flew into his face and he brought a hand up to catch the tail end of it, wrapping it around Russia's neck one more time and the helmeted head nodded in thanks. It wasn't long though before Matthew noticed how fast they were going and the fact that the sisters on the Kawasaki kept falling behind. Cars around them were going much slower than they were supposed to.

Tapping Ivan on the shoulder, he yelled over the wind, "Slow down, Katyusha's not keeping up!"

A sudden swerve to the left made him yelp in panic, clutching the shoulder to keep from being thrown off. The car they nearly missed honked at them in outrage. "W-what are you doing Russia?"

"Driving," He offered helpfully.

"Well slow down!"

"What's wrong, you went faster than this on the track, Matvey."

"That was on a _track,_ this is real, with other people on the road, not racing, not in a controlled environment!"

"Relax, I'm in perfect control." Matthew didn't doubt that but he still squeaked when the bike banked to the right. Ivan zigzagged through the traffic, the speedometer climbing until the cars looked like they were standing still. Horns blared behind them as they passed but they could hardly hear over the wind.

As Ivan pressed for more speed, Matthew's grip around his waist grew tighter, both arms wrapping around the Russian, Kumajirou squished in the middle, head hidden under the red sweater. At some point Canada found it easier to handle if he closed his eyes, so he shut them tight and upon losing his sense of sight, he became aware of the smaller things.

The wind was slightly blocked by Ivan's large body in front of him, and the chill that usually came with the air, as it was still winter, lost its power as he was so close to Kumajirou and Russia; body heat from both of them kept him relatively warm. He was glad nobody could see his face, as he was probably blushing when he wondered how their positions looked to outsiders; looking at how close he was against Ivan, arms wrapped around the man's waist, plastic covered head leaning on the broad back. To anyone else it probably looked suggestive, like they were together or something. And Matthew had to admit it was… comfortable, being like this.

Sure, the speed and the sudden turns frightened him, but it was also a thrill, and just as he imagined, Ivan handled the Ducati like a pro. While he did notice how the man moved on the track, his perspective changed a bit when seated behind him, entrusting his safety to the Russian. "Matvey," The Russian variant of his name pulled him out of the reverie and he opened his eyes. "Hold on, I'm sliding to a stop."

A few seconds later, after Matthew was sure his hold was secure, the entire bike tilted, brakes and tires squealing in a burnout as they slowed to a sudden stop. Dirt and smoke surrounded the two and tire tracks were prominent up to fifteen feet behind them. Matthew looked around to see they had literally stopped at a restaurant parking lot coming right off the highway.

"Showoff," He teased, laughing a bit as he took off the blue helmet. "I admit, that was fun."

"I couldn't do it with Ukraine, she would have… freaked out."

"Yeah, nice call, but –um, do they know where we went? They're probably twenty minutes behind."

"Da, Katyusha should know to come here. I like this place; it's the only restaurant I'll eat at."

"Why?"

They stood, taking their helmets with them, tucked under their arms as they walked to the doors, "It may not look like it, but this is one of the oldest places in town. It… was where we first met; many, many centuries ago."

Canada blinked, looking around and taking in the view. If what Ivan said was true, it was hard to tell. The place looked pretty modern; glass doors, masonry on the outside, hard wood inside. Along one entire wall was a buffet table, and to the left was a huge fireplace, alive and providing heat throughout the building. It crackled merrily, offering a homey feeling to the place.

A young man greeted them and Ivan spoke to him for a short moment before they were seated near the window where they could conveniently see the motorcycle. They'd be able to see when the girls arrived as well, and Canada was willing to wait for them before grabbing a plate, but apparently Ivan had no such patience.

"Food," Neither did Kumajirou… screw it, he was hungry.

Matthew was a firm believer in the fact that food made people happy; it brought people closer, gave them a reason to sit and talk, and it could turn a bad day into a good one. It was a natural mood lifter, and for a long time Matthew and Ivan continued a light conversation as they ate, laughing and joking (Ivan was starting to open up, which made Matthew very happy).

"Oh! Favorite color: red!"

"White. Favorite song?"

"Ah, that's hard, don't make me decide! Favorite animal?"

"Bear."

Kumajirou tilted his head to the side, salmon hanging out of his mouth, he swallowed it before speaking and Matthew smiled, patting him on the back for showing good manners. "I'm a bear."

"Da."

"You like me?"

Matthew giggled at the slight hopeful tone; he couldn't tell if his friend was being silly or sarcastic. Ivan huffed. "You're not bad," He admitted and Kumajirou had this gleam in his eyes as he leaned forward.

"Food?"

Ivan blinked, "You have food."

"Want that food."

Russia rolled his eyes, picking up part of his own salmon and reached across the table, giving it to the bear, who gulped it down without taking a single bite, giving an animal equivalent of a grin. "I like you," The bear said and the two nations laughed.

The girls joined them not long after, Katyusha being the only one in a happy mood. Natalia stomped over to sit by Ivan, glaring at the table and at Canada like they were infested with disease. She said nothing throughout the meal, even as the other three talked happily about random subjects as they ate.

When the time to leave came and Canada was once again pulled to the Ducati, Belarus continued her silence, which amazed all who were present. She simply glared at Matthew, watching him with hawk-like eyes as he straddled the bike behind Ivan. _It creeped him the hell out._

And when he wrapped his arms around Russia's waist, she had this look in her eyes that made him want to hide in a hole. "Let's go please," He whispered to Ivan, pointedly looking away from the sisters.

Russia knew what was going on, and Matthew was glad he didn't comment or tease about it. He started the bike, kicking off and driving down the highway normally. He obeyed traffic laws, staying within the speed limit and not zigzagging across the road like a mad man, pissing off the other drivers.

They got home safely, all together, full and content. It was still pretty early in the day to retire, but there was nothing else to do for the day and Ivan said that Spasskaya Bashnya was day after tomorrow so there was no point in doing something big anyway.

Matthew more like stumbled off the bike, yawning widely and stretching. His legs felt like jelly from riding all day and no matter how comfortable those seats were they still hurt his bottom after a while. "Want to watch a movie," He asked.

Russia hummed, "Go ahead, I've got to check up on some things in the study."

"Okay."

Ukraine glomped him from behind, giggling, "Come on, Matvey, I'll show you the collection he has!"

Everyone scattered throughout the house, Matthew and Katyusha looked at the DVDs, having a bit of a debate on whether a horror or action film should be played until Katyusha hit him in the head with the case and demanded they watch the zombie movie in her hand.

She puffed her large breasts out bravely, claiming that a silly movie wouldn't be able to scare her, but Matthew doubted that, he'd heard that argument before. Alfred always went for the horror films, _knowing_ that it would scare him so bad he refused to sleep in his own bed. And yet, every time, he claimed he could brave it. Canada had the feeling Ukraine was the same; _there was no way she'd be able to handle that, eh?_

"Fine." But whatever, a scared Ukraine jumping into his bed wouldn't be such a bad idea…

He was a bit disturbed to find that thought not arousing, but more hilarious by the second for some reason. Especially if she went to Russia's bed instead of his, he snickered at the image of a panicked Ivan unknowing of how to consul her. She'd be like "the zombies will get me, let me sleep with you!" and Russia would be forced to have her snuggled against him. Such a darling little brother he is.

Russia and snuggling in the same sentence made him laugh.

"Matvey, what's so funny?"

Matthew came back from his daydream, giggles escaping his mouth every once and a while. "Oh, n-nothing. Ha ha, zombies sound good."

She tilted her head curiously but smiled in victory. "Yes! Brother, sister, we have the movie!"

"I'll go get popcorn."

Funny how fast popcorn leaves the bowl. Not five minutes into the movie and it was gone. Belarus, Ukraine, and Canada sat on the sofa, Katyusha between them holding the popcorn. Russia sat in the armchair, grabbing a handful of the buttery treat every now and then. They went through three bags of popcorn, four sodas, a bag of chips, and ice cream… _what? Nations were hungry, they ate a lot_.

Unfortunately, the sugar rush and subsequent crash was the same for countries and humans alike. Canada couldn't remember _when_ during the movie he had fallen asleep, but he left like he'd merely shut his eyes for a few moments before a screech interrupted his nap.

"Нет," The voice belonged to Belarus, and she seemed to be throwing another temper tantrum. Matthew jerked up from his slumped position, snapping awake and looking around. Ivan sat up straight in the armchair, looking away from the television showing what looked to be the news (was the movie over?), and glancing to the ceiling as a dull _thump_ sounded from above. "Ты, тупой медведь! Что ты натворил?"

Both Katyusha and Ivan looked worried then and Matthew frowned, wondering what was going on now. "Я убью тебя!"

Russia suddenly jumped up, racing across the room to the staircase, and Canada gaped as Ukraine hurriedly followed him, yelling her sister's name. Curious and worried, Canada trailed behind them at a slower pace, trying to wake up and shake the numb feeling from his limbs. At the landing Matthew peeked into the door next to his: Belarus' claimed bedroom. He hadn't been to either of the remaining guest rooms the sisters were using during their stay, but from glimpses inside he could tell the design was themed a forest green.

"Sister, don't," Ivan's stern voice said as he stood in her doorway, the tone serious and verging on angry.

"Why not?"

"Because I say it is not allowed! Let it go."

"My clothes are all over the place, by bag is ripped and my shoes have holes in them! This _thing_ doesn't belong here!"

"_Belarus_," Russia's voice rose. "Let him go before you get into trouble."

Matthew stepped past Ukraine who looked frightened, staring at Canada in horror like she wanted to stop him from seeing what was going on, but she made no move to hold him back. Meekly stepping closer to Ivan and slowly peeking around the man's large shoulder he saw more of the room; a dresser with a TV, an armchair, a bookshelf, a fairly big bed. All the fabrics were either a crisp off-white or a deep forest green with swirling patterns.

It was messy at the moment though, a dark brown suitcase tipped over, clothes scattered around the room, drawers carelessly opened and contents disorganized. Belarus stood in the middle of it all; hair in disarray and a rather skimpy nightgown clung to her form. It was a dark blue silky dress with lace, coming only to her upper thighs. It was very beautiful on her, Matthew would admit, but it was too revealing, too… well, Matthew didn't want to use any derogatory terms here.

_Slutty_, there, he said it.

At first he didn't understand what the commotion was about, sure, everything looked a mess, like someone had riffled through her things, but nothing looked too damaged. However, here she was, red in the face, not ashamed of her state of being at all, with a knife in her hand.

Then she did a weird shift of her leg, like she was crushing something under her foot, and a growl answered her. "It doesn't deserve to live."

Slowly, Matthew's eyes trailed down to the floor to look at a mass of white she had pinned under her heel. A snarling polar bear met his gaze and Canada's heart skipped a beat, fear overcoming his senses as Belarus positioned the knife in her hand, looking as if she'd stab the animal.

"No," Matthew screamed, and he attempted to lunge into the room to stop her, to break that pretty little face underneath his fist.

A strong arm around his waist kept him from her though and he struggled against it, squirming and kicking. "Let him go, now!" He snarled, "Before I nuke you into oblivion, you bitch!"

"Matvey-"

"You just try it, hussy!" The heel of her bare foot pressed harder into the bear's pinned back and Kumajirou let out a roar that would have been terrifying if he had the size and the stance to back it up. The white muzzle twisted, trying to reach back and snap at her ankle but it wasn't within reach.

"Stop it, you're hurting him!"

The girl only pressed down harder and Matthew felt a pang in his heart, a sharp sting that began to throb as if someone was stomping on the organ. He cried in shock and pain, staring wide-eyed at Kumajirou as the animal snarled and whimpered. His friend was being hurt, and Canada could only watch. Tears started to roll down his cheeks as he felt utterly helpless.

"Enough," Ivan shouted, and Belarus jumped, looking shocked as her brother sent her a violent glare, not like she'd ever seen directed at her before. Matthew simmered in his rage and fear, watching every little movement the woman made. "Let the bear go," Ivan warned.

A nasty glare was sent to the animal, then to Matthew. She didn't look happy at all as she lifted her foot from the bear's back and Kumajirou scrambled up and across the room to Matthew, where the blond scooped him up and cradled him in his arms, burying his wet face into the fur, sniffling.

"Matvey, Katyusha, I would like for you to go downstairs," Russia said. "I will have a talk with my sister."

Canada nodded, turning around within the loose arm that held his waist, just in case he still decided to jump Belarus. "Thank you," He whispered putting as much emotion and emphasis on it as possible in his state, brushing passed him and following Ukraine who looked from him to the bedroom as they descended down the stairs, near to tears herself from the situation.

Matthew made it to the living room, curling up in the big armchair and hugging Kumajirou close. "Où es-tu blessé," He asked, sniffling but looking aware enough to search through the bear's coarse fur, gently running his hands across the skin to feel any abnormalities.

"Ça va," He insisted, licking the tears off Canada's face.

"W-what happened?"

The bear looked crestfallen and guilty. "I went through her stuff."

"You d-destroyed her things?"

The bear shook his head in a common human gesture of denial, "Didn't mean to rip her bag."

Matthew nodded, trying to smile and reassure his friend that he wasn't in trouble as he pet him, running his fingers through the fur and trying to calm down. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes."

A screech came from upstairs and Canada flinched, hugging Kumajirou closer while looking to Ukraine who sat on the couch, legs pulled to her chest. She looked scared and her eyes were wide and glassy. Seeing her made Matthew feel guilty for not comforting her, so he stood, falling back into the seat next to her.

She jumped a bit in surprise before dropping her legs to accommodate Kumajirou as he lay across their laps. She brought a hand up to slowly pet his head. "I'm so sorry," She whispered. "Are you okay?"

Kumajirou licked her palm, "Yes."

Matthew sighed, feeling light headed. After all that he just wanted to go back to sleep, this time in a nice bed, but the adrenalin from before still ran through his system and he knew he couldn't sleep without knowing he outcome of Ivan's "Talk."

…oOo…

"Belarus," Ivan started, walking into the rest of the room, shutting the white painted door behind him for more privacy. His tone was deep and serious, he was not happy, and Natalia, despite wanting to remain strong in the face of his temper, took a step back. "I am usually very tolerable of your foolish and annoying actions, but this is going too far."

"I-"

"Not only have you completely disrespected a guest in my home, but you have injured something very precious to him intentionally, and have put you and possibly your _nation_ in very serious strain. Know this, sister, I will not support you."

Natalia's eyes widened. "B-brother, w-"

"You brought this upon yourself. I'd like for you to leave."

"W- what," She gaped. "Why… why are you taking his side?"

"I told you, Belarus, he's a guest, he was staying for a reason, call it international relations, I don't care, but your actions have nearly caused him to leave twice now."

"Then let him leave, you don't need relations with him!"

"This is not something you can influence Belarus-"

"Natalia," She screeched. "We're closer than that, Vanya; you should be calling me by name."

Ivan stared blankly at her. "Belarus," He emphasized. "Leave."

For a moment it looked like she would yell some more, but slowly, the red in her cheeks faded and she began to play a new card. "Ivan," Her voice was soft, slightly pleading, she looked hurt and dejected. She stepped closer to him, taking one of his hands in her own. "Perhaps I did take it too far. Maybe… If I go and apologize I can make things better, yes? And you won't be angry and I can stay." She looked up, her eyes connecting with his. Her dark eyes shined with unshed tears, "I don't want you angry with me, Vanya. If you think I should apologize I shall. We can put this all behind us, yes?"

The blank look remained, "You've been nothing but trouble- you always were. You are more than welcome to apologize but I still ask of you to leave until the end of the month."

Stepping even closer, leaning her head against his broad chest, letting out soft sniffles as she held back her tears. "You have not known him for very long. Two weeks, and you defend him like you've known him for centuries. I merely wish to know why you are so adamant about him staying here."

"My economy, my history; he's interested in my land and people, curious and generous to them; this is a project of sorts to share culture. It is going surprisingly well. His influence is… very refreshing and I tend to like his company. I would like for him to be a friend, and your attitude is not really helping matters."

Belarus frowned. "A friend," She repeated. Her hand tightened around his and she brought it up to her hip, placing his palm flush against her silk-covered skin. "Ivan, I recall you saying you did not need _friends._" She looked up to him, wide eyes searching as her free hand came up to caress his face.

Ivan started to feel uncomfortable, the feeling of confusion and dread from all the meetings with his sister coming back, taking away his anger and disapproval and replacing it with a tinge of fear. Belarus may have always been clingy, but she'd never advanced this far, these moves were new and Ivan didn't know how to react or tell her they were not welcome.

The hand over his kept him from moving, his palm burned with her body heat and to make things more suggestive, she moved closer, rising up on her toes and wrapping the other arm around his shoulders. Her breasts pushed against his chest and her hot breath caressed his cheek. "I love you, Vanya," She whispered into his ear. "The only friend you need is me."

She pushed his slack hand down, across her hip and to her thigh where the nightgown ended and her warm skin met his. "Whatever you think his friendship could bring," She continued, guiding his hand back up, only this time it caught the edge of silk, gathering up so his palm continued to meet the smooth thigh in its ascent. "I can give you so much more."

Her head moved back to give his comically wide eyes a coy smile before leaning forward to connect their lips in a sweet kiss. Velvet lips met cold, chapped ones and she attempted to snuggle in close, holding him where she wanted him, forcing his trapped hand close before finally releasing it to caress his chest.

Ivan seemed perfectly frozen, his mind blank and attempting to access the situation, he allowed her to kiss him, but did not reciprocate and as soon as his hand was free he pulled it back like it was on fire, holding it in the air like he was not at fault and wanted no part in this.

Natalia let out a whine, her hand trailing over his abdomen and to his shirttail, sneaking underneath the fabric to touch his skin. She pressed harder, nails digging a bit. Her lips moved, trying to get him to participate.

_He didn't_. And after a few moments she pulled away, looking to him desperately, "Why do you refuse?"

Russia held back a sigh, knowing that this conversation was something they should have had a long time ago and yet, he dreaded it, hoped it would come later, or better net, _not at all_. "I don't feel that way, Belarus. I… don't want you. Not as a wife."

She hugged him around the waist, "Then we won't," A deep, shaky breath; she was losing composure. "We don't have to get married."

Ivan shook his head, taking hold of her arms and unwrapping them from his body. "No, Belarus."

"W-why," She asked. Her voice cracking, "I've done so much, I've been good, I've tried so h-hard! Why won't you take me?"

Ivan flinches at her breakdown for it wasn't often he saw her cry, but as the tears rolled down her cheeks and hiccups started to hinder her speech, he felt guilty for causing this. He may not be as close to his younger sister, but he cared enough to wish her happiness.

He knew he couldn't give that to her though; sex was one thing, he'd have no problem with doing the act with anyone else. The thing was, his definition of pleasure was not the thing Belarus needed to experience; he did such a thing for fun, for release, it was a tool. She wanted so much more from him: a support, a guide, a _husband_- truthful, honest, and loyal. Russia was _not _that guy.

"I know," He said, trying to keep a soft voice, so as to comfort her. "It's just… never worked."

She brought her hands up to her face, covering the tears and letting out a pitiful whine. Now would be a good time to admit that he _sucked at comforting people to the highest degree of suckage possible_. "Bel-Natalia, I'm… sorry. I really am."

She shook her head. "It's not f-fair. If not me then who," She asked, and Ivan paused. "Is my body not pleasing to the eye?"

"B-Belarus… what," Russia wondered where this was coming from, hoping it wasn't what he thought it was.

"Who do you want more, Vanya? Who do you love so much that I pale in comparison?"

Ivan opened his mouth to say _nobody_ but she looked up, suddenly shaking and glaring with hatred. "It's _him_ isn't it?"

"Who?"

"That blond with the glasses, America, I know you had an affair with him!"

"What," Russia exclaimed, surprised. "No, I wou-"

"China?"

"No."

"France?"

"No! Sister, it's-"

"Who," She nearly screamed, moving away from him and closer to the bed. She suddenly paused, quieting, but her eyes hardened with unrivaled fury, almost like she wanted to commit _murder_. "It's that boy downstairs, the one with the bear. You like him, don't you?"

"Sister, stop making assumptions."

"You defend him too easily; you've been taking him around your capitol like a puppy commanded by its master. It's disgusting. He's such a frail little thing, I wouldn't think of him as your type."

"Stop, Natalia. It's nothing like that."

It was so quick, the way she reached for the antique clock on the bedside table, hurling it across the room so that it smashed against the vanity mirror hanging upon the wall above the dresser. The glass shattered in a cacophony of sound, falling in chunks big and small all over the place. "Don't lie to me!"

Ivan pressed against the door, looking at her warily, "You continue to baffle me with your temper, sister."

"Admit it; you want that boy- that… _slut_. Say it!"

"The thought never crossed my mind," He said firmly.

"You're a liar, Ivan Braginski!"

"Don't you dare insult me, here or anywhere else," He snarled back. "I never thought of _touching_ that boy, neither for fun nor for his land, and if I did, it would be none of your concern anyway!"

"Oh, and I suppose you simply defend him out of the good of your cold, unbeating heart, is that it? Vanya finally having _feelings_?"

"That's not it, Belarus," He growled. "Watch how you speak to me."

"If I cut my hair and dyed it blond- if I bought bright blue contacts, would you love me then," She screeched. "Maybe I should get a fucking polar bear to destroy my things?"

Russia's fist pounded into the wall next to him, "Be silent, Belarus, that is _not_ the situation and you have no right to question my motives. You have not belonged here in decades, your opinion does not matter and don't think, for a second, that I'd love you anymore because you _changed_ your appearance."

"Then he's just special for no reason at all!" She stormed forward, bare feet stepping on stray pieces of glass as it had traveled as far as five feet from the force it was shattered with, and yet she didn't blink or show pain. "What's so good about him," She demanded. "He's young, weak, _pathetic_, he's too innocent and naïve, he wouldn't understand what you've gone through."

Before he could protest, she reached up, taking hold of the white scarf and pulling it. Russia's large hands snapped up to keep its comforting presence around him but the tail end of the fabric slipped from his fingers and it was gone, held in Belarus's hand and out of reach. She carelessly threw it behind her and he growled at the disrespect she showed to his most precious possession.

But then her hands slid across his neck.

And he absolutely froze, all thoughts of stomping across the room to retrieve his scarf, berating her for her attitude, yelling at her, intimidating her- they all dissipated from his mind as he stood stalk still. Petrified completely into what seemed like stone, muscles tense, face expressing surprise, fear, anxiety- the world washed out around him, and those hands at his neck were all he could focus on.

The thin fingers were foreign and cold against his skin, sliding across the raised lines firmly, purposefully imitating the ones who'd touched them before her, following the lines all the way around, as if she'd strangle him. Every touch burned- sent an image to the front of his mind- he felt trapped, chained, and helpless. A slave to her every whim as she held him by those hands.

"He can't know or understand what you've been through," She said, voice soft and sympathetic as she traced his scars, feeling the slight tremors underneath the taunt skin, revealing in the power she held over him. "I understand," She claimed. "The ghosts of your past, the slavery of your people… What they made you do."

Ivan took in a shaky breath as she leaned closer. "They made you into a monster, and anyone who thinks you can change is delusional," She whispered.

Suddenly, her pink tongue swept across the marred skin, just above his jugular, the texture warm and moist and the shock of the action snapped Russia out of his daze. All of his motor functions suddenly came back to life and he flew back on instinct, trying to get away from her, those hands, and the _memories_. His body met the hard wood of the door, the back of his head connecting with a dull _thud_. He grit his teeth, breathing harshly and staring at her as she gave a small smile.

"Do you think anyone else could love you for what you really are?" _This is not my sister_, Ivan thought, taking in the way her eyes shined with tears even as she smiled happily- proud of herself for causing his torment.

Russia tore his gaze away, reaching behind him to the handle, twisting it and falling back as it gave away to the hallway outside. He turned around; taking the stairs at a normal pace, face pale and skin clammy,

Belarus did not follow, but her parting words "I love you, Vanya" sent another shiver through his body.

He stopped in the living room, taking a moment to look at the two huddled close on the couch, they both looked at him with wide, expectant eyes. He said nothing, turning to go to his study, locking the door behind him and collapsing against it, sliding to the floor and raising his arms up to cover his neck from the elements, closing his eyes and attempting to rein in everything that had been unleashed.

…Thank You…

It may be a bit late, but I had trouble with Belarus. She wanted to ruin things earlier on, not to mention I've found quite a hole in my notes for this story, so I did some revising there. But hey, 20 freakin' pages, longest chapter yet, be happy!

Also, I recommend people add me on facebook for quick notes on this story. Only if you want, and I'm not self-advertising, I say that because, it seems like I've turned FB into a journal of sorts. Pros: You'll be the first to know of any problems, delays, or specials coming up. Cons: You get a lot of random, other stuff too; I don't just use it for Giving in. Choice is yours. The Add me link is on my profile.

Another thing I thought I'd put out there. A couple awesome reviewers mentioned this but, just to throw it out and see the response, I'll ask... When I finish this story I plan on cleaning it up, getting it to perfection, and printing it out like a novel. Maybe have a contest for cover art. If I did that, _who would buy it_? Ha ha.

Anyway, thank you so much for all your reviews, you guys are so awesome Prussia loses his shine in your glow (poor Gilbert, give him love ya'll).

New fan-art, look on my profile! They're good, really! XD

_Translations:_

Désolé (French): I'm sorry

Ты, тупой медведь! Что ты натворил? (Russian): You stupid bear! What have you done?

Я убью тебя (Russian): I'll kill you

Où es-tu blessé? (French): Where are you hurt?

Ça va (French): I'm fine

_Disclaimer_: I don't own the Ducati or Kawasaki… I don't own a motorcycle, and I definitely can't drive one. I don't own a racetrack; I don't own a restaurant, or the popcorn/soda/chip/ice cream franchise. And I love how I have to say I don't own countries. I thought that would be obvious. I just wanna lie and say YES I own Russia! … but yeah, I guess that's copyrighted?


	17. Accepter: Accept

For a long time the two blonds on the couch sat in silence, Kumajirou between them. Katyusha had begun to cry silently much to Matthew's displeasure. He patted her back, offering comfort through touch, as he had no words that could make the situation any better. "It's been a long night, why don't you go on to bed, eh? I'll stay up for Russia, just in case."

She sniffled. "Matvey," Her voice was soft and pleading. "I know Natalia can be hard to deal with at t-times and… she had no right to touch Kumajirou, but please, don't be mad at her she… she c-cares, she really do-does." Matthew just frowned. It was fine that she was defending her sister, but what she had done was unforgivable and whatever conversation the siblings had upstairs proved to shake up Ivan's composure in a way Matthew had never seen before. Matthew was in no position to sympathize with Belarus, and frankly, he didn't want to try.

"Natalia is just… lonely. It used to be just u-us and… I'm sorry but p-please don't take military action-"

"I won't," He assured, "Whatever happens will be between us, not our countries. I didn't mean what I said about nuking her." Eh, at the time, the thought was very appealing but in all truth, it was just her that irritated the hell out of him, not her people. Innocent civilians didn't need to die because of her actions. "Don't worry, Katyusha. Retire for the night, get a good night's sleep and everything will be all better in the morning. Okay?"

"O-okay, Matvey," She stood up slowly from the couch, hiccuping a bit while trying to dry her face with her hands. "Good night, Canada, Kumajirou."

"Night," He replied, watching her carefully make her way up the stairs, slowly and quietly. Once she was out of sight, Matthew let out an explosive sigh, letting his head fall back on the sofa. "This house is insane."

"What?"

"There just too much…" He couldn't find the word. "Everything. It's just all crazy. I can't keep up; one second I'm having fun and the next _bam_ a big ball of 'I'm gonna fuck up your day.'"

"Why?"

"Hell if I know. Maybe we're too young; we haven't lost our sanity yet. Everyone in Europe has just gone bat-shit crazy."

"Who?"

"You know, England, France, Italy, Spain, and everyone to the east; Korea, Russia, Ukraine, _Belarus_. Insane- albeit different _types_ of insane but- yeah," He stayed there in silence for a bit, staring at the ceiling, thinking about his predicament. "Have any plans, Kumachika?"

"Plans?"

"To help Russia."

"… pancakes?"

"How would that solve this? … You're just hungry."

"Food."

"You are so not helping."

Eventually, he decided to get off the couch and be productive. Taking up Kumajirou in his arms gently, he walked down the short hallway, stopping at the study door. The designs caught his eyes; a small window for elegance, black spirals decorating the stained glass. Too bad the glass wasn't clear enough to see within; it was blurred and discolored, but Matthew could tell Ivan was inside for he could see the desk lamp's light shining. Hesitantly, Canada tapped on the wood, hoping he'd be allowed entrance.

Nothing answered him. "Russia," He called, keeping his voice soft. "Please let me in."

He waited a full minute, and then he waited another. Kumajirou and he shared a look and Matthew's hopes fell even further. "He was missing his scarf," He whispered to his friend, remembering the certain missing object the man went without when he walked through the room earlier, a haunted look in his eyes.

Making up his mind, he turned away from the locked door and took to the stairs, trying to be silent. He took notice of Belarus's door ajar and curiosity got the better of him. Setting Kumajirou on the floor and giving a firm "stay there" look to his friend, walked over to peek inside. Shimmering shards of glass covered the entire floor, and he made sure to step carefully as he had no shoes. _What's with the glass in this house anyway? First Ivan, now her._ They were siblings all right, though Matthew wouldn't dare compare the two much farther than their similar tempers.

"Belarus," He whispered, and movement from the bed answered him. Her nightgown covered form sat on the edge of the mattress; she looked bent over, holding something close. She didn't look at him, even when he stepped hesitantly inside. "Is Russia's scarf in here?"

Her hands lowered from clutching at her chest and Canada immediately recognized the white fabric within her grasp as the object he was looking for. Her head tilted to the side, a white curtain of hair shielding her face from view. "What do you feel for my brother," She asked in a chilling, blank kind of voice.

Truthfully, Canada wasn't surprised by the question, knowing she was jealous of his proximity to her brother, hell, he was pretty sure she gave warning glances to _Katyusha_ when her sister got too affectionate. Of course, being siblings, Belarus was plenty lenient on her sister doting on her younger brother; Natalia was just a jealous woman, even when it made no sense.

"He is only a friend. I just wish to help him. I want him to be happy."

"He is happy," She answered. "Your help is not needed, and neither is your friendship."

Her voice was still suspiciously without emotion and Matthew felt more uncomfortable by the second; he just wanted to get Ivan's scarf. He moved forward, eyes narrowing on her revealing figure, looking for weapons. He saw none, which actually put him more on guard. "I don't think he's very happy at all," He said softly. "He blames himself for everything, he isolates himself, his hobbies lead to self-destruction, and he makes no attempt to change these things. It's not good for him; he needs to know he's not alone."

"I'm here for him, he will never be alone," She replied, and this time, the words held a bit of sting, like a snake coiling up, getting agitated and fidgety.

Canada paused, trying to peek at her face and decide if he should continue this conversation; he didn't want this to lead to a loud argument that would wake Ukraine, but he couldn't simply let this girl get the last word in. "With all due respect, Belarus, what if you're not enough?"

The hands around the scarf tightened.

Matthew watched her carefully. "What if Russia needs others around him? Not just you-"

"Nobody else will accept him; he has to know that- only I can love him."

"Are you saying that _you_ are his only choice? Will you not give him the chance to try? Are you so selfish that you would risk his happiness to sooth your greed."

She leaped to her feet, dark blue eyes almost black in the light, "You know nothing!"

"I know he's not happy, and what you're doing is fucking hurting him," He reached forward, snatching the scarf out of her grasp before she could react. "Whatever you said to him… do you really think you've helped him at all?"

He turned on his heel, feeling glass underfoot as he made his way back out the door. He scooped Kumajirou up on the way to the stairs, whispering obscenities to him in muttered French as the urge to choke that bitch came to mind. Seriously, Russia and Ukraine may be the only ones to see any kind of light in that woman, because Matthew pretty much hated her from day one.

Back at the study door, he knocked again, trying to speak louder than normal so Ivan would hear through the wooden barrier. "Russia, it's just me. I have your scarf. Please let me in."

After a few seconds the sound of the bolt withdrawing was heard and the door cracked open to show a hand, open palm up and waiting for the scarf to fall into it. Matthew shook his head. "Non, you have to let me in if you want this."

The door swung open, and Russia had turned his back on the blond with a growl as the Canadian walked in, shutting the door behind him. The room was dark, even with the desk lamp glowing on the table, there wasn't enough light to make out Russia's face as he sat in one of the office chairs. Canada kept his distance, trying to read the mood. Something told him it was dangerous to be so close to Russia and those primal instincts were not to be ignored. Kumajirou wiggled in his arms, the hairs on the bear's back standing on end with anxiety.

Matthew didn't like the situation, but he forced himself to stay in the room, white scarf in hand as he set Kumajirou down on the floor. The bear took a defensive position slightly in front of the Canadian. "Russia," The blond started, though he didn't really know what to say. "Um… I s-spoke to Belarus… Look, whatever she said, don't take it to heart. I'm sure it'll all blow over, eh?"

Russia didn't answer, he just sat there in the chair, face in shadows, but Matthew could feel the man's stare and it chilled him to the bone, intimidation far more than usual. "R-Russia?"

"Do you pity me, Matvey?" Canada froze. "Do you think you can just _fix_ me with this plan of yours? You were going to play psychiatrist, da? I tell you everything about me, and that somehow will solve everything?"

"I… N-no, the point of you telling me everything is so that you can admit to yourself your wrongdoings, the weaknesses, the things that you should work on. It won't immediately f-fix things."

"I know my weaknesses, and I know my wrongdoings, why should I relay that information to you?"

"Because if someone knew and underst-"

"Nobody would _understand_, Matvey," His voice was hard, dangerous, and Kumajirou growled lowly. Matthew shifted his foot discretely, pushing it against the bear's fur. It was a silent message to stand down, and his friend obeyed.

"Maybe not, but I could try- haven't we had this conversation before? - As your friend and ally, I won't repeat anything I find out, you can trust me, Russia... Please."

Russia stood, moving forward at a steady pace. Kumajirou started to growl again, and Matthew once more signaled for him to stand down. As Ivan got closer, the first attribute Matthew noticed were the bright eyes; less of the amethyst he was used to and more of a red color. The two orbs were practically glowing in the dark and the intensity with which they were focused on him made him shiver in something akin to fear.

Without noticing, Matthew had steadily backed up into a bookshelf along the wall, Ivan closing in with a predatory look. "You're so naïve, little Canada. You think I need friends or allies?"

"N-"

"How do you think I got these scars, I wish to hear your theory."

There was a long pause. Matthew accessing the situation; he obviously wasn't going anywhere, as Ivan had effectively trapped him against the shelves and the conversation was definitely turning sour. "I…" He thought about changing the subject, as this topic seemed to only further stress Russia's mood. However, on the other hand, perhaps he could get answers, and hopefully his attempts would earn the Russian's trust.

"I've thought about fire," His voice came out as a whisper. "Or glass, sometimes, the s-shattering of glass would leave uneven…" He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure under those red eyes. "I-it had to have happened before the World W-wars so… I thought about the battles against Turkey and Sweden. Maybe even France with Napoleon."

"Нет, all wrong, Matvey," Ivan stepped even closer and with Matthew out of room to retreat, the blond put a hand up, settling in the center of Russia's chest to stop his advances. "Far darker than that. Think… redemption."

"R-redemption for what?"

"My sins, of course."

Canada locked eyes with the man in front of him, shocked and worried at what all this meant, it was a crucial clue, he knew that, but… how did these scars _atone_ for anything? "I don't think… Russia, these scars…" He couldn't articulate the words correctly, and he gave up on trying to explain how he felt about that answer. Obviously, these scars were a very touchy subject for Ivan, but the feelings seemed to intensify without his scarf to cover them.

His left arm, hanging limp at his side, scarf in hand, lifted to the Russian's shoulder. Very softly, he brought the scarf around the back of the neck, wrapping it around high enough to cover the top of the marks.

He wasn't able to complete the settlement of the fabric though, because the split second Matthew's warm fingers brushed across the pale skin, Ivan's entire body sprung like a coil. A large hand snatched his back from the marred skin, and the other hand braced around the blond's own neck. Canada was slammed into the shelves behind him with force, a few loose books falling around him. Kumajirou's snarl was heard from behind and Canada flung his free hand out in a 'stop' gesture in his friend's general direction.

It was difficult to breath, as the large hand around his throat steadily cut off his oxygen and the board digging into his back had conveniently hit his back in such a way that his lungs temporarily stopped functioning. "I-Ivan," He wheezed; it was the first time Matthew had called Russia by his human name, and the word was foreign on his tongue; it was short, harsh, and powerful for a simple four letters, especially when he said it in such a strangled tone. "Redemption begins in the form of salvation," He offered.

"And who's going to _save_ me," Ivan snarled back. "_You,_" He sneered.

"No," A whimper escaped him as the hand tightened about his windpipe, crushing it to the point he could get no air, much less speak; his lungs tried to heave, but they had no oxygen to take in. "P-please." Even he could not hear the words, as he had no voice to say them with, and so his lips merely moved to sound them out.

"No one can save the damned, I figured even an incompetent child such as you would understand that." Matthew felt light headed; black spots danced in his vision, and he felt weak and frail with every millisecond that passed.

"R-Russ," He tried to force out, and the word came out in an almost silent whisper, but Ivan's stance seemed to falter at his broken attempt at the man's name, the grip around his neck actually loosened a bit and Matthew's body tried to gulp in air while simultaneously use the chance to speak. "Доверься мне."

Ivan's eyes widened at the use of Russian, but he made no move to strangle the blond again. Matthew took a few breathes, free hand coming up to brace itself on Ivan's forearm. "Доверься мне," He repeated, pulling at hand around him, steadily unwrapping the fingers from his neck, and pushing the limb away from him. Their eyes locked and Matthew waited to see Russia's reactions, emotions rarely crossed the man's face but Canada figured he could see some form of clarity appear in those violet-red orbs. There wasn't just anger or pain, but astonishment, and curiosity.

With Ivan no longer choking him he looked confused on what to do next. There was a slim chance of him apologizing for losing control like that, but the words "sorry" never passed his lips and Matthew wasn't surprised or offended. Instead, Canada gave a low "Thank you" for releasing him.

They both stood there, a little too close for comfort, Ivan attempting to process what had happened and trying to return his psych to something regarding normal; Matthew recovering his breathe, watching the Russian with sharp eyes.

"I think… we should do something- just us- and get away from your sisters for a while, eh? You liked taking the bike out, we can do that again, or we can play more Hockey, maybe go to the bar again. Although, if you insist on fighting, we'll have to discuss what the hell you think _fighting_ means."

He was kind of rambling now, since the silence was awkward and he didn't know how to make the transition from such a heavy topic of conversation into a light one. Matthew just wanted to cheer Ivan up, get the man's thoughts out of the darkness and into a more sane (was he sane before?) state of being.

Eventually Russia snapped a "shut up" and the blond's jaw clicked shut, almost pouting because now they were forced to endure the quiet, and as much as he liked the peaceful silence, this wasn't very tranquil. A heavy sigh escaped from Russia, and he stepped away from Matthew's personal space, hands coming up to completely wrap the scarf around his neck, flipping the tail end over his broad shoulders and pulling the edge of the cloth to the top of his chin. "We'll get away from my sisters tomorrow."

"Okay," Matthew said lightly, attempting a small smile. "It'll be a little break. Everyone will cool off, and then we'll get back together for the Spasskaya Bashnya…. I said that right, eh?"

"Da," Ivan gave him a suspicious look. "How are you learning Russian?"

Canada's cheeks tinted a slight pink, barely visible in the lack of light. "Um- I may have… purchased a book on the language."

Ivan blinked, perhaps wondering why, but a smirk cross his lips nonetheless, amused as he asked, "When?"

"At GUM, when you were distracted by awesome hats." Russia tilted his chin until the high scarf covered his smiling mouth, and he bent over slightly. Deep toned chuckles were faintly heard and Matthew sulked some more. "Hey, I was tired of being completely helpless in communication. It would have been really helpful at the club at least. Then I could have understood that woman when she asked if I was gay."

Ivan's chuckles grew louder.

"And before that when I went to the money conversion place, I had to make airplane motions with my arms before the taxi driver could understand where to take me." Russia was laughing outright now. "Not to mention I can use Russian later to freak my brother out, because he already thinks I'm turning communist with all the immigration from your side of the world."

Russia flopped into the desk chair, laughing as he said, "I think… he would be more than freaked out."

"If I start randomly talking in your language I think he might have an aneurism."

"D-da."

"It's bad enough that someone made the joke that geographically speaking, I top him."

They both laughed hysterically at that and Matthew wandered over to the armchair beside the desk to sit, holding his stomach as he giggled.

"You know, I'm surprised your brother hasn't barged in demanding you to stay away from me," Russia said, though he didn't look concerned at all (and he wasn't seeing as he'd overheard Matthew's conversation to America that night he was sick in bed).

"I-I hadn't told him I was here."

"Why?"

The blond shrugged. "He would have a huge fit over it, which would be completely unnecessary, drag me back home, and then leave only to forget I even exist." He regretted the slight bitterness in his words as if kind of ruined the clearing atmosphere.

Russia frowned, leaning back in his chair. "That happens a lot doesn't it? People forgetting you."

"… Oui."

"I realize I have done the same before. I do not know why, but sometimes you just seem so… invisible."

Canada held back a flinch, the words hurt, even if Russia was only being casual about it. "Yes. That seems to happen. People don't see me very well. It's like I have a super power- invisibility, only… I don't want it. I can't speak up in meetings unless I stand up, wave my arms, and scream like an idiot and when I finally have everyone's attention they either think I'm America or have no clue who I am entirely. You know, if they'd wake up and look around they'd see I'm just as involved as they are, I'm in all the meetings, all the plans- I'm everywhere, damn it!"

"But people don't realize that."

"Exactly! They bump into me in the hallways and-"

"Sit on you."

"Yeah, an- wait… how do you know that," A lag in the conversation followed and Russia stared at the ceiling, a slow smile crossing his lips. An expression of daunting realization showed on Matthew's face. "You remember sitting on me?"

"Da. I was very comfortable that day."

"Ugh! You ass, you're heavy, you know that?"

"I'm sure I would have crushed you, I'm surprised I didn't, you look so frail."

"Thanks jerk." Ivan just kept smiling, getting a little childish in the way he giggled mockingly. Matthew's eye had a slight twitch but he found that he couldn't stay mad; the situation was almost funny looking back on it now. "Whatever, we'll see how you like it, if I park my fat ass on _you_."

"Try it, Matvey." He patted his lap, grinning. Matthew stuck his tongue out at him. Kumajirou took that offer though, and climbed into the Russian's lap, much to both nations' surprise. "I was joking," Ivan told the bear who flopped down on his legs with a sigh, eyes already starting to close. Russia pouted, Matthew giggled, and Kumajirou fell asleep amazingly fast.

"I'm not tired," Russia suddenly said. "I'll be working for a while. You should go to bed, da? Take the bear with you."

Smiling slightly, Matthew shook his head, standing up. "Hold on," He said, and he dashed out of the room, much to Russia's curiosity. Less than a minute later he came sneaking back into the room, some kind of book clutched to his chest. Once the door closed behind him, he held it out for Ivan to see. "I've been reading it, but I need someone who actually speaks Russian to make sure my accents are right. Who better than Russia himself, eh?"

Tilting his head slightly, Ivan smirked. "I'm already teaching you to fight like a Russian, why not?"

Matthew grinned, flopping into the chair again, folding his legs underneath him to keep his feet warm and get comfortable. "Besides," He said absently, opening the book to the page he left off. "This way you won't be alone in the dark."

He didn't notice the way Ivan's breath hitched at that comment, violet eyes staring at the blond as he skimmed the pages of the language book. A small smile lifted the corners of his lips and he hesitantly turned to his laptop, letting it boot up. Kumajirou shifted on his lap and the Russian brought a hand down to touch the fur, running his palm down the animal's back.

Compared to his dark thoughts of five minutes ago, he felt extremely content now; the moment of silence in the room was not stifling as it usually was. The sounds of Matthew and Kumajirou breathing, the turning of pages… the mere presence of others in the room soothed him in a way he didn't think was possible. They were here, not because they had to be, but because they wanted to be- with him.

His hand continued to absently pet the polar bear's fur, finding himself nostalgic, as he never remembered a time where he had someone so content in his presence. It was nice, and he didn't want the moment to be destroyed.

When the laptop finished its wakeup process, Ivan hardly paid any attention to the work he was set out to do, instead, he repeated words Matthew wanted to learn, instructing him on the accents and the sentence structure, all the while feeling quite peaceful.

…oOo…

Belarus and Ukraine walked down the staircase together, not speaking to each other as the atmosphere between them seemed a little awkward. They didn't know what to expect when they came down, still half asleep and in their pajamas, but when Ivan came out of the kitchen holding a platter full of bacon, looking as normal and… undisturbed as possible, both women were understandably confused.

He gave them a glance and paused slightly upon setting the table. "Breakfast is done. Go ahead and serve yourselves. I'll go get Matvey."

"W-where is Matvey," Katyusha asked as Ivan brushed past her.

"Asleep in the study," He called back, and Ukraine blinked, numbly sitting at the table, staring at the food. When was the last time Russia willingly cooked when he didn't have to?

"He did it," She whispered in awe.

Matthew woke up slowly, even as a something shook him at the shoulder. He hummed, not happy as he opened his eyes; a glaring Russia looked back at him and the Canadian jumped a bit. That surely was not what he expected to see so early in the morning.

"What," He whined, leering back; already going through his memories to find what he'd done to make the giant angry with him this time. The last thing he remembered was learning Russian, he must have fallen asleep soon after because it was somewhat fuzzy after talking about the translations from the English variation of 'bitch.' "Let me sleep."

"Нет," The tone left no room for argument.

Canada pouted, sitting up, running his hand through his hair, and correcting his skewed glasses. His back popped as he stood, wobbling a bit. "Ow, stop letting me sleep on things that are not beds."

"You are very cranky in the morning, da?"

"Not usually, and you're the one glaring, I'd ask you the same question."

"I don't like cooking."

Matthew paused mid-yawn, "You cooked?"

"Da, and I burned the toast."

Canada snickered and Russia simply continued to glare, which now looked more like a pout.

"Where's Kumachi?"

"Asleep on my chair," The two turned to the desk chair Ivan had occupied a few hours ago. The white ball of fur was curled up, snoring lightly. Matthew smiled at his friend, walking over to pick him up gently. "We can leave after we eat."

Canada looked up at that, grinning and jumping slightly, "Okay! Let's go!" With that, he dashed out of the room, Ivan following him with an amused look on his face.

Everyone probably thought that Breakfast would be awkward and silent, but honestly, the two girls were too surprised that Ivan wasn't destroying things in anger to make any attempt at conversation that could turn things sour. Canada kept the conversation going between him and Ivan, sometimes involving Katyusha, but all out ignoring Natalia.

"Do you play any instruments?"

"Drums, guitar, and the saxophone."

"Saxophone… Seriously?"

"Da," The Russian smiled, knowing it was a surprise to the blond. "You?"

"Violin and the piano, to some extent the harp, France can actually play that really well."

"And I know England can play bagpipes."

Canada went into a fit of giggles. "He hates that, says it reminds him of his older brother Scotland."

"They both have such horrible tempers."

Matthew made a humming sound as he took a gulp of milk, "They're way worse when they're drunk, and they like their gin and rum a bit too much."

"That's better than your fruity wine."

"Hey, don't bash the wine; it's perfectly good tasting alcohol."

"Its light liquor, doesn't do shit."

"It's _sophisticated_ and romantic. And not all alcohol is supposed to get you drunk after the first taste; I like to enjoy my drink before getting smashed, thank you."

"That won't take long; you're a light-weight."

"And you're a drunk, so we're even," Matthew sang back in a high but mocking voice.

"L-little Ivan," Ukraine started, her voice astonished and non-believing. She kept looking back and forth to the men, wondering at the friendly banter. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Da," He said obviously. "Oh, Matvey and I are going to be gone most of the day. You two keep the house, do what you like."

"O-oh, where are you going then?"

Russia shrugged, standing from the table with his plate. "Don't know," He said casually as he strolled into the kitchen, Matthew following with his own empty plate, whispering an 'I don't either' to her as he walked by. Katyusha was confused, not knowing how to follow the sudden change between them; no matter how much she hoped this day would go well, a large part of her had been convinced that the fun times were over when she went to bed last night.

She turned to Natalia, who had been ignored and silent the whole morning, looking just as astounded as Katyusha, only doing a much better job of hiding it. "Sister," Katyusha began. "You should start being nice to Canada."

Belarus threw a small glare towards her hissing out a "why."

"Because it's just been proven; Matthew could be exactly what our little Ivan needs."

"No," She said definitively. "_Canada_ couldn't have done anything."

Katyusha sighed, looking down at her half-eaten plate. "Please do not lie to yourself anymore, Natalia."

…oOo…

"Brother…"

Russia paused in putting on his coat, turning to the doorway of his room, where Belarus leaned against the frame. He turned to face her, but didn't meet her eyes.

"Did you think about what I said last night?"

Ivan held back a sigh, he didn't want her to see how she had affected him; he was ashamed enough to have been such a coward under her hands last night. Showing such weakness… He hated himself for it. "I thought about the possibility of one… accepting such things about me for a long time. Long before you mentioned it, Belarus. The concept was not what surprised me. You're belief that I would be forever cursed was."

"I don't-"

"Leaving," A voice interrupted her, and a white ball of fur ran past her barrier in the doorway, _Kumajirou to the rescue. _The animal stopped in front of the Russian, looking up with unblinking black eyes. "What's-his-name said we're going."

"Da," Russia answered, grabbing his wallet and phone on the way to the door, he took a deep breath before exiting the room, building up the courage to do what needed to be done. He glanced up at his sister as he spoke, putting on a murderous aura, coupled with a menacing tone. "I do not wish to speak of this any longer, and if you intend to stay after I asked of you to leave," He paused, his courage wavering; he didn't like how he was threatening his _sister_, one of whom he swore to protect. Nonetheless, he sent the harshest glare he could muster in her direction. "Watch your step."

She backed into the wall, letting him and the trailing polar bear pass without trouble. She watched them stroll down the hall, turning the corner into the living room. Her hand came up over her heart, breaths quickened. Despite her cold expression, she felt panic well up in her chest as her brother showed such anger towards her. For the first time, Belarus feared that he was lost to her forever. For so many years he'd been slipping from her fingers and she was desperate to hold on… now though, with the way he looked at her, coupled with the drastic measures she had taken last night, it seemed hopeless.

She shut her eyes tightly, grinding her teeth.

Out of her sight and hearing range, Ivan looked down at Kumajirou trotting beside him, "You're timing was impeccable."

The white face looked up, "What?"

"You kinda just… saved me from an awkward conversation. Why?" He wondered if the bear even realized this, maybe it was just coincidence.

"Food."

Stopping in his walk to the garage door, he quirked an eyebrow at the animal, "Did you mean you're hungry?"

"Yes. Food." Ivan simply stared at the animal with a thoughtful expression.

"… And if I feed you, will you continue saving me from awkward situations?"

Sitting on his haunches, the bear nodded. "Give me food and I'll be good."

Narrowing his eyes, Russia squatted down to more of the bear's level; he held a hand out to shake. "If you help me whenever I need it, I'll give you as much food as you want."

The bear's paw reached up to the offered hand, and the two shook on it, completing the deal. After that, Ivan bypassed the garage door and strolled to the refrigerator in the kitchen, digging through to find the packaged food Matthew put away for the animal. He brought out a brown-wrapped carcass, holding it up to see if the bear approved. One look at the drooling animal was enough to decide.

"Wow, you're very easy to please," He said casually, watching the fairly large strip of meat be swallowed by the eager bear without much chewing. "Don't tell Matvey."

…oOo…

Said chipper Canadian came into the living room a few minute later, pausing in surprise to take in the picture of Russia and Kumajirou sitting on the same couch, right next to each other as they watched some television. "You two have bonded extremely fast; you know that- for seemingly hating each other a few days ago."

Russia shrugged uncaringly. "We're leaving now?"

"Oui, just had to call my boss and stuff."

"We'll take the car, a snow storms on its way." Oh, how he hated winter.

Canada didn't look concerned at all though, that grin on his face grew, if anything. "That's fine," He chirped. Swooping by to pick up Kumajirou, he tossed the bear up in the air, almost reaching the ceiling, before catching him and hugging him tight. The bear didn't make a single noise throughout, looking as if this type of thing happened every once and a while. And truthfully, it did; Canada was prone to break out into a hyperactive fit of energy (reminiscent of America, without the stupidity).

Russia watched, amused. "What got into you?"

"I have no idea," Matthew instantly replied. "But I'm excited! Let's go!" He took off to the door, hurriedly trying to pull on his shoes without going through the trouble of lacing them. It didn't really work. Ivan followed at a normal pace, but he smirked at the blond's enthusiasm; he didn't know what the Canadian found so exhilarating about getting out of the house, they hadn't even decided on where to go yet.

"Bye, Kat," Matthew yelled behind him as he rushed out to the car. Ukraine had come to see them off and by the look on her face; one would think she was a mother dropping her child off at college. She was tearing up, a smile on her face.

"Have fun," She replied, smiling softly and before she lost her nerve, threw herself on her brother, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. It was certainly a surprise to Ivan, who froze in shock, looking down at her in confusion, a bit uncomfortable with the sudden affection. "Whatever he did, I owe him," She murmured. "I was afraid you would be angry… like you used to." She carefully pulled back, whipping her eyes free of the tears that clung to her eyelashes.

Ivan frowned, a bit sad at the way she fully expected him to lose control. But then again, he had, and he would have continued to be angry probably for the rest of the week- longer maybe. He would have stomped around, destroying things, yelling at people… hitting them. After all, the rumors of him abusing those under his rule certainly had _some_ truth to them. His treatment of the Baltic States were greatly gossiped about- the way he belittled them, beat them, hurt them, starved them.

His removable heart clenched in something like pity and self-hatred. For Katyusha to think so little of him: it hurt, but he knew he deserved it and he gave her no reason to believe otherwise. He was fully prepared to 'fly off the handle' last night. But what stopped him...

Доверься мне- Matthew's use of Russian, the _meaning_ behind the words- maybe that was what brought him out of his delusions. A small voice in the back of his head called him naïve for turning over so easily; a part of him had wanted to crush that boy; hear him scream, watch him writhe in pain, taste his tears. It was such a primal instinct that he had no qualms about giving into before, but the mere fact that this was Canada changed everything. Setting aside the probability that breaking him would start another world war with America, England, and France, among others… those amethyst eyes reminded him of the last few days in which he had _fun_.

Canada was the only one to willingly stay with him in such a very long time; he showed such kindness, the type of hospitality that Ivan had once ridiculed because it came off as _weak_ and yet, Russia turned out to be so very_ thankful_. These past week had been so enlightening; Canada was not as frail as he looked; even if he didn't carry the same strength America had. He wasn't a coward; he met every challenge Russia threw at him head on, even when the blond knew the outcome was not in his favor.

Therefore, when it came down to the facts; as Russia learned more about the man 'helping' him, Ivan discovered that he might, possibly, at some point, very rarely… _respect_ the Canadian.

To what level he didn't exactly know yet, but he figured he could do the blond the courtesy of _not_ beating him to within an inch of his life, hoping it would compensate for what the boy had done for him so far.

And perhaps giving the nation the benefit of the doubt; the chance to help him. Because no matter how little faith Russia had in his situation being changed for the better, Ivan sincerely hoped Matthew could offer _something_- the smallest breakthrough, the tiniest bit of improvement. Canada was the only one to try- that alone gave Russia a reason to… attempt a form of trust.

Matthew was the only one to believe in him. And that sentence just sounded wrong. Not even his sisters thought any better of him- Katyusha cowered at every situation that could make him unhappy, fearful of _him_, the one who swore to protect her- and Natalia made her opinion clear; he would continue to be alone, with no chance of redemption, and nothing but his own memories for company.

Ivan was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he merely nodded to Katyusha, not consciously aware of the action, as he stepped out to the garage, finding his keys in his pocket and sliding into the Bentley as Matthew already occupied its passenger seat. Kumajirou hopped in the back, happy at the free room he used to his advantage, stretching out and yawning cutely.

Putting the key in the ignition, Ivan cast a glace to Canada who immediately started fiddling with the radio as the car started, muttering something about hearing hardcore man music in English.

This boy… was his last chance- his only chance, at bettering his life- to make him out to be anything but a monster.

Доверься мне.

He smiled. "Where do you want to go?"

Matthew looked up, still wired up with energy that Ivan didn't even witness during their training sessions (_I'll have to be tougher next time I suppose_). "Um… I don't know-Oh, but I have an idea!" He reached into his hoodie pocket, taking out the Russian language book he brought with him, turning the pages until a piece of paper slipped from the folds. He picked it up; unfolding it to show the map of Moscow Ukraine had given him. The bright purple eyes closed, and one of his fingers slid across the paper unguided.

He stopped, opened his eyes, and looked to see where his finger paused. "There," He chirped, showing the destination to Ivan. "Anything here worth looking at," He asked.

Russia shrugged. "Could be, let's find out."

"Ok! This will be awesome, eh, Kumasabi?"

"Who?"

"Canada, the one who feeds you!"

"Oh."

Russia's smile never left his face and he kept catching himself looking over at the preoccupied blond, just observing, wondering, and hoping.

...xXx...

A well-suited man stood on the doorstep of an elaborate looking house, the heavy coat around his shoulders kept out the chill as he waited, slightly impatiently. Ringed fingers drummed a nameless tune on a leather briefcase he carried, and he continuously shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Finally, one of the double wood doors opened, showing a woman in her mid-thirties with slightly graying hair to smile in greeting. "_Mr. Mihailov is expecting you in the study. Shall I lead you th-_"

"_No, I've been here before, I know where it is_," The visitor interrupted, stepping inside, and passed the woman, not bothering to remove his shoes or wipe them of the mud they had tracked as he crossed the carpeted sitting room. He strolled with a since of purpose, a hand coming up to loosen the tie, enabling him to breathe easier; his entire disposition looked anxious and fearful, but the signs were kept to a minimum.

At the dubbed study, the man once again knocked on the door, waiting for a gruff reply before entering himself. Slipping in like a snake, he shut the door firmly behind him, clearing his throat. "_Sir, I have brought what you asked of me._"

Sitting in a large, high-backed armchair, another man looked up, hazel eyes almost gold in the light cast by the fire to the right. It highlighted his matured face and the rich brown hair that had been combed back to place perfectly. "_Ah! Finally, I was wondering why it took such a long time. I worried that you would not deliver._"

"_My apologies, but he disappeared for a few weeks._"

A hand waved noncommittally, and a flash of engraved cufflinks sparkled in the light (DM) as the man leaned back in his chair. "_Do not worry about that. I am aware of the unpredictability of our… friend. I have tried to keep tabs on him,_" Pale but callused hands reached across the desk, picking up an expensive looking cigar and preparing to light it. "_However,_" He said thoughtfully, lighting the match and gently coaxing the embers at the tip into life. The man in the doorway was forced to wait in silent as Mr. Mihailov enjoyed the taste, taking a puff of the tobacco, and releasing smoke. "_My men seem to mysteriously lose sight of him. He simply cannot be followed._"

"_Sir,_" The man at the door began to slightly stutter. "_D-do you wish to see the tape?_"

"_Yes, of course, put it in,_" A vague gesture to the television on the other side of the room, and the coated man dashed over to it while simultaneously digging in his briefcase, procuring a disk that he set in the DVD player.

After some technical magic in which the nervous man almost broke a vase to the right and probably irritated his host all too much, the television snapped on with both video and audio; showing a large crowd of people surrounding a boxing ring of sorts.

In the middle were two men, hashing it out. One was a large, definitely intimidating in his size and stature, but the aura around him was far more powerful, it could be felt on screen; his authority over the situation showed, even without his presence. The opponent was a smaller dark-haired male the two men knew to be named Nikolas Serchev- he was a regular affiliate of the underground fighting rings; not one of the best, but very talented nonetheless.

Mr. Mihailov and his visitor watched the fight progress; the larger man getting thrown down; Nikolas taking every chance given to him, not holding back in his attacks. Mr. Mihailov kept his eyes on the light blond fighter, watching him get beat up; laying down, bleeding, but in no way defeated.

Then, the thing they both could predict; the defeated making a comeback that would have been unheard of if they hadn't seen it happen many times before. Nikolas went down and the man behind his desk nodded, apparently convinced that it was the only outcome available. "_Great, how many fights did he win this time?_"

The visitor replied a shaky, "_Only two, sir._"

Mr. Mihailov paused, blinking as he taped his cigar on the ashtray. "_Two? Why did he stop there?_"

"_Someone interfered, sir._"

This immediately caught the man's attention and he sat up in his chair was interest. "_Someone he knows? A fighter?_"

The man nodded, his host snapped a quick "_Show me_," and he jumped to fast-forward the DVD to the mentioned part. He stood there, quiet and restless as Mr. Mihailov watched another blond rushing up and into the ring, yelling about something and pulling on the large man to get him to stand. At some point, he stood from his chair, walked around the desk, and peered at the screen closely, trying to get a good look at the boy's face. "_I have never seen him around before. He doesn't even look Russian._" He tilted his head, taking up the remote and pausing the frame. Then he went into zoom, closing in on the face. "_American, you think?_"

"_I-I am not sure sir._"

"_Find out! I don't care how, but I want to know._" The man commanded and the coated visitor jumped at the harsh tone, nodding once and rushing to the study door. He exited the room clumsily and Mr. Mihailov gave a deep, contented sigh at the quiet surrounding him. Nothing but the crackle of the fireplace to interrupt his thoughts as his gaze focused on the screen.

The blond's face took up the entire picture, rare colored eyes- a type of purple- wide and glassy; they were marred by tears though- streaks of the liquid staining his cheeks. Soft lips open as he was in the middle of saying something. Even with the audio playing, it would have been impossible to hear the boy's words over the roar of the crowd, but the well dressed man wish he had knowledge of what the boy was saying, if only to place a voice with that beautiful face. He wished to print this photo out; frame it, show it- admire the expression of worry, fear, distress...

"_Such a strange being, crying over a monster,_" He murmured.

…Thank You…

Long week people and the ones coming up are going to be harder I think. I start school again, yay! College work is such a time hog. However, no worries, I promise I'll keep you guys updated with a fix of Giving In at least every two weeks, and that's just a deadline, nobody saying I can't update sooner, eh?

My boyfriend complains that Giving In gets more attention. Ha ha! Aw.

Also, I have more artwork and things! Look on my profile.

Recommendations: Vigilant, by ChaosLydia, You and I will Fall in Love by Shatterdoll, and Part Right, Half Wrong, a Third Crazy, by Save the Rave. Love them very much!

It is currently 2 am as I post this. Woo! Go Insomnia!

_Translations _(the two men at the end were speaking Russian, there's just too much to translate, so I won't):

Доверься мне (Russian): Trust me

_Disclaimer:_ Don't own anything, and I make no money from this… if I did it'd go to my college education, which is hella expensive. Why aren't I a millionaire yet, damn it?


	18. Отрицать: Deny

Chapter 18: Отрицать: Deny

"So you never… just walk around? You know, like a civilian?"

"Нет, not often. "

"What do you _do_?"

"Work, mostly. As I said, Matvey, I'm very involved with my government. More so than other nations- I look at and review almost every document that is seriously proposed, I attend meetings, go to academies, laboratories- I test weaponry, I _build_ weaponry."

"So you spend your time acting as a government official slash second president during the day and an illegal brawler at night." The Canadian summed up, licking the tip of his chocolate ice cream cone. They had parked the car a ways back, deciding to walk to their destination as Ivan had said there were Gardens all up and down the Kremlin wall they were traveling along. There was an ice cream store along the way and despite the chill in the air, (there was still snow on the ground) Matthew instantly wanted one.

Calmly strolling down the sidewalk, looking at the scenery, Matthew simply stared in awe at the beautiful flowers, still alive in the winter weather. If anything the thin blanket of snow added a certain serene air to the garden. He smiled at the sight and sat on a nearby park bench, enjoying the ice cream and quiet tranquility.

Ivan, who sat beside him, was leaning back and staring at the sky. He didn't get one of the cold desserts Matthew loved so much, not really having a sweet tooth. His big shoulders were shrugged, elbows propped up on the back of the bench. As the seat wasn't large enough to put a lot of distance between them, the Russian's arm laid right behind the blond. Matthew could feel the coat's fabric at his neck when he leaned back, but he wasn't aware of how their close proximity and position could be read by passerby's. "Why would I walk around town aimlessly?" Russia asked. "I don't have _civilians_ to talk to; everyone I know personally is of some status -highly important individuals that I trust to run over the land and people."

"But you don't know the people themselves. Civilians are different from the people involved in the government. Believe me; they're much easier to get along with."

Closing his eyes, Russia hummed noncommittally. "What do you do then? Obviously you don't spend time working."

Matthew made a sound of disagreement, swallowing some of his cold ice cream treat. "Of course I work. I go over a lot of the proposals and I attend a lot of the meetings." He shrugged a bit meekly. "I'm not as involved in the military, although I'm updated in its progress regularly. I usually don't take control of that branch unless I'm needed there. I'm more focused on international relationships and preserving the land."

Ivan's lips tipped up in a smirk. "Tree hugger." He repeated the term Alfred had called Canada.

Matthew let out something like a whine and a groan and his free hand twisted back to smack Ivan's arm, which Russia only laughed at.

"I'm also involved in the Olympics," The Canadian continued. "I helped with the themes and the opening entertainment. There's going to be a whole act about the Aboriginals and my defining culture. It's… kind of embarrassing actually," He gave a little laugh, a light blush on his cheeks. "It's nice though; for the Olympics to be held in Canada. For a whole month, people will recognize me, especially when I win Gold."

"Your expectations are too high," Ivan murmured. Eyes still closed, face to the sky.

The small smile on Matthew's face wilted a bit as he stared at his ice cream. "Maybe, but I can't help it. I'm tired of being alone and forgotten."

Ivan gave a small sigh. "Da, being alone isn't very fun. But don't you have Kumajirou?"

Matthew looked at the bear in question, strolling around the garden, sniffing at the flowers and pawing at the ground. He couldn't help but smile at his companion. "Kumajirou is the only one in the entire world, that knows me. He may not remember my full name, but he would never leave me and will always find me. If not for him… I don't think I'd be here."

The smile disappeared again and he glanced at Ivan's blank face. "Even so, is it too much to want that same bond with another? I want to be recognized as a _nation_, not just as a person, and I don't think Kumajirou knows the difference. I'm two-dimensional to him; a best friend, an owner, someone to take care of. He was there during the wars; he fought against the enemy right beside me. However, I don't think he knows _why_. He did it because I did."

The ice cream in his hand looked strangely unappealing now, and Matthew sighed, wondering what to do with it. "I just want someone to stand on equal ground with me. See me for who and what I am. I want _love_; the pure, unrivalled love that nothing can break, even through the toughest of times."

The Russian groaned, "How are you the _second_ largest country?"

The question was rhetorical but Matthew answered with a tinkling laugh. "I'm just that good, eh?"

He scoffed, "A fairy is what you are."

Canada giggled. "England would have told me."

Ivan smiled. "Maybe he didn't want to hurt your feelings, so he kept it from you."

Matthew stuck his tongue out at the man childishly. "Honestly, I don't understand why you freak out at the word 'love,' it's a beautiful thing."

"Now you sound like France."

"Oh, he's too quick to call everything _l__'__amour_, including the sex."

"Sex is important in a relationship, da?"

"But just because two people have sex doesn't mean they love each other- it's not the same!"

Russia started to chuckle as Canada grew a bit frustrated in trying to explain. "Matvey, it's all a trick anyway. Like I've said before, there are no 'soul mates,' one can only hope to find the most compatible person to be with, and even then, two people can only be so close before the world tears them apart."

"I hope you're proven wrong one day." Matthew whispered, looking sadly at the concrete at his feet.

Ivan finally opened his eyes to gaze at the blond, his face remaining blank. He stood a moment later, "Let's go. There's a few things to see on the other side of the Kremlin."

Canada stood to follow him, still carrying the ice cream cone that he no longer wanted. He threw it in a nearby trashcan as they passed it. "R-Russia," He started. The Russian glanced to the shorter man trailing behind him. "During our poker game, when Ukraine asked if we'd been in love… Well, I was just wondering, since you only admitted to _loving_ your sisters. Did you ever love someone else in a less platonic way?"

"What do you mean?"

"A crush," Canada's cheeks tinted red. "Like mine..."

Ivan took a deep breath, looking thoughtful, "I'm not sure. I would say Lithuania, however…" He left off in a hum. "I don't think it's the type of relationship you expect."

Matthew paused, "Um… as in…"

"I did not treat him well, da."

Soft violet eyes stared at Ivan's strong back, going out of focus as he thought. "How exactly did you treat him?"

"You have not seen the scars on his back? They were mine. He was my favorite of the Baltic's, and so he got more attention; sadly, not all of it was good, da?"

Canada gulped, a little frightened to ask but curious all the same. "Did you ever… rape him?" It was a common rumor around the world meeting conference room. In actuality, one nation _raping_ another was not uncommon during wartime, or even within ruler-ship. Supposedly, intercourse, even the violent and un-consented kind, meant something different when involving countries. The crime was never punishable; merely looked down on by others- justification came afterwards, with the smell of gunpowder and the screams of the dying.

It was frightening and a bit depressing to the Canadian to know that such a thing he thought to be a treasured act between two couples would turn into such a… tool against the avatars of their countries. He had to admit, when Ivan turned to him with that blank face (no sign of _guilt _or _remorse_) and said, "I did so to all three of them." Something in Matthew broke. Whether it was disappointment or some sense of pity (for the Baltic's or _Ivan_, he wondered), Canada just knew that it hurt.

He took an extra step forward, hand reaching up to grip the tan coat at Ivan's elbow. "I'm sorry." He didn't say what the apology was for and he was thankful Ivan did not ask as he couldn't give a straight answer. The Russian merely lifted an eyebrow at the grip on his jacket, unconcerned and looking like he didn't even want to attempt conversation with the blond. Matthew was fine with that as they walked through the gardens in silence.

…oOo…

"Wow…" Matthew murmured, walking up to the platform in which a giant iron bell stood proudly for everyone to see. It was… huge. Matthew had never seen a bell so big, it was four times his height, at least.

"Tsar Bell," Ivan informed him. "216 tons, I think. It would be the largest bell in the world… if it worked." He lazily waved to the side of the platform where a chunk of iron, the same iron the bell was cast out of, leaned against the stage. This fallen piece of the beautiful bell simply laid there like a puzzle piece, waiting to be lifted and slid into place, reunited with its origins to become what it was meant to be. The Russian looked nostalgic, perhaps a bit sad when he said, "It had never been used. It broke immediately after casting."

Canada stepped forward, bringing a hand up to touch the metal, running it down the inscribed designs.

Ivan watched him as the blond looked over what was now only considered a sculpture. "On the other side there's a cannon; the Tsar Cannon. It was used only once."

Matthew glanced back at him. "So you have a bell that never rang and cannon that's never used."

"Da."

The blond hummed, walking around the stage on which the bell sat. Russia followed him, curious about what the boy was doing. There was a gate within the stone platform, hip-high and locked with a chain. The Canadian looked around them discretely before reaching out and pulling on the lock, breaking it easily with strength no human would have, swinging the gate out to look at the small doorway underneath.

Ivan blinked, surprised at the delinquency, _Wasn__'__t he supposed to be the good one?_

"Come on," Canada whispered, bending down and sliding into the opening rather easily with his small form, ducking under the lip of the Bell and disappearing inside. Russia looked like he didn't want to follow, but bent down and slipped through. The platform was hollow in the middle, and Ivan could stand to his full height once more inside the bell.

It was dark with only the light from the small doorway shining through. The hole in the side of the iron bell had been taped over with a black felt to keep people from crawling inside and because of the darkness it was hard to distinguish where it was.

When their eyes eventually adjusted, they could see each other in the relatively small distance of five or so feet. "Why are we here?" Ivan asked.

"To ring the bell," Matthew stated obviously. "The cannon… well, we can't really do that one. But the bell can still ring!"

"It's broken Matvey, it won't ring."

"Yes it will. The echo effect may not be the same, but I'm pretty sure it'll work."

Russia rolled his eyes, giving up. "Well what do you plan on ringing it _with_?"

"Your head," Matthew giggled at his own joke and Ivan glared. "Kidding, don't make that face at me, grumpy Ivan."

"Who?" Kumajirou asked, wiggling inside the platform with the two. He ran around the circumference of the stage, mindless of the way he pushed at Canada's legs to get through. Matthew had to take a step closer to Ivan, bringing a hand up to clutch at the front of the man's coat to keep from falling.

"Kumasa!"

"I like it here."

"Calm down, will you?"

Ivan rolled his eyes, more amused than annoyed.

Matthew suddenly gave a cheer of victory, leaning down into crouch. With the close proximity, the action resulted in a subtle _slide_ against Russia's front. The Canadians hands ran down his chest and at the current height of the kneeled man, Matthew's blond hair was level with Ivan's… unmentionables. Russia jerked back at the unexpected action, looking at the Canadian with mixed expressions of surprise, annoyance, curiosity, and concern.

Canada didn't even seem to notice what he had done. "I knew they would have something like this inside!" The Canadian chirped, picking something heavy up from the concrete floor. It made a ringing sound as he held it up. In the dark it looked like a regular stick; straight, with no distinguishing features. But when Ivan reached for it and felt the cool rusted metal in his grasp, he knew it had to be some kind of tool for the bell. He wondered what it was doing there; _who _had put it there?

"Ring it." Matthew said, smile wide, amethyst eyes bright.

Ivan frowned. "You do it, I want no part in this."

"Oh come on," The boy whined. "Afraid we'll get in trouble?" Ivan snorted, _Hardly_. "Ring it, ya big baby."

"This was your idea, da? You do it."

"It's _your_ bell, _Da_," He threw back. "Nobody but you should ring it." Russia huffed, looking at the metal in his hand. "Do it!"

"Fine."

Matthew let out a cheer. "Don't be a pansy about it, either. Hit it hard so everyone can hear."

Shaking his head at the Canadian's enthusiasm, Ivan shifted their positions, Matthew ducking behind him to make room for his swing. Russia held the metal pole as he would a baseball bat, hands slightly apart, gripping tightly. He took a deep breath and raising it up, he prepared his superhuman strength. He suddenly struck fast, without warning, swinging the pole in a graceful arc, suggesting he had practice in the art.

It connected; the sharp _clang_ drowned out by the echo of a deep ringing sound unlike Matthew had ever heard. It was loud, high pitched in the beginning and beautiful.

However, it only took a millisecond for the two nations to decide that it might not have been such a great idea after all. Sitting inside the bell while it went off was just asking to have their eardrums abused with the barrage of sound.

The ring drowned out Matthew's yelp as he brought his hands up to cover his ears and Ivan dropped the metal pole to do the same. The high-pitched echo bounced off the iron walls surrounding them, so deep and loud that they could feel the reverberation in their bones. The two leaned against each other; eyes shut tight, palms over their ears, hissing in pain.

The echoing call lasted a good minute, and when it had finally gone silent, Ivan lifted his head, giving a giant sigh of relief. Matthew followed, looking around with wide eyes, amazed, before he started to laugh. "That was so… awesome!"

"Sh," Ivan berated, rubbing his ear as if he was soothing out the hurt. "I think I've gone deaf."

Kumajirou whimpered. "Hurt."

Canada kneeled down to pick up the polar bear, speaking to him in quiet French until he was sure the animal was ok. Ivan watched, "We better leave. Officers will probably be on their way."

Grinning, Matthew moved to the small doorway, "Then we better run, eh?"

They all slipped out of the hollow platform, blinking at the shocked looking group that had gathered. Matthew smiled a bit, waving meekly at the spectators and Ivan rather glared, as he was uncomfortable with the attention. Taking Ivan's coat in his grasp once more and holding Kumajirou with the other arm, Matthew pulled the Russian away from the bell, almost jogging out of the congregated group of people and back the way they came.

He laughed joyously through the gardens and Ivan couldn't help but smile along with the blond. "That was fun!" They stopped in one of the gardens, surrounded on either side by blues, reds, and yellows. Canada held his sides as he laughed.

"Da."

"Did you see those people's faces? They were so shocked. I bet people heard that a mile away!" Russia chuckled. "Doesn't it feel good?"

"Matvey, we rang a bell," He said, like it wasn't a special feat.

"A bell that people said would never work. Everyone was convinced that it would never be able to function. You proved them all wrong. It rang; it served its purpose. That missing chunk doesn't mean it can't be used."

Russia paused, and Matthew smiled as realization came over the man. "See? You're just like that bell, eh? Everyone says you can't ring. Well, prove them wrong!"

Ivan simply stared, trying to comprehend the resemblance between him and the Tsar Bell as Matthew had so willingly pointed out. Canada smiled, pulling at Ivan's coat, "So, where to next?"

…oOo…

"Russia! When is the next Hockey game? I want to see a game of yours. I wonder if it'll be any different than local games in Canada. I'm pretty sure you guys get drunk and throw things on the ice when you don't get your way too, eh?"

Ivan kind of tilted his head, wondering if people like Matthew actually did that; he couldn't see the shy Canadian starting a mosh pit, drunken brawl, or shouting match just because the team he rooted for lost. "Da, the games get pretty intense."

Matthew made an excited noise, bouncing up and down in the passenger seat. "I remember one time, in the Jr. League, there was this referee who was totally favoring. He kept calling fouls and put the best player my team had on the bench. Thanks to that asshole, the team I was betting on lost and some fans from the opposing one were eating it _up_. This one guy bragged all through the ending- until I punched him in the face- then he shut the hell up, eh? Of course, his friends weren't too happy, so they tried to get revenge, and the next thing I knew everyone in the stands were fighting each other."

Canada laughed gleefully at the memory while Ivan tried to picture it happening. "One guy actually took my tooth out with a sucker punch! It was awesome! But then… well, naturally it's all fun and games until the cops show up. We all got arrested, stayed in the slammer for a day, cracking jokes and having fun. Alfred had to come and bail me out. I hugged all the guys I was staying with- even the guy who stole my tooth, because, really, he wasn't bad."

Ivan made a _uh huh_ noise as he made a right turn, pulling into the familiar parking lot of his favorite restaurant for a late lunch. They got out of the car, and walked up to the door. "What is this place called anyway?" Canada asked, seeing as the name was in Russian.

"Подсолнечник," Russia read. Then he translated, "The Sunflower."

Canada smiled, "Beautiful name."

The waiter greeted them, gave them a table and left them to the buffet. Sitting in their little booth, this time along the back wall, not near the windows, Matthew couldn't help but fully enjoy their time here. Unlike last time, he wasn't paranoid about Belarus snapping and trying to kill him.

Ivan seemed to have relaxed as well and between the two nations, Kumajirou was well fed, so the bear definitely had no arguments. They talked about Hockey, the Olympics, the fights they'd been in, the good and bad deeds they'd done (keeping the topics light) and the current affairs of both their nations.

"Это ты! Анна, это та самая пара, о которой я говорила тебе!" A voice suddenly called, interrupting Ivan who was explaining the different landmarks such as Lena's Stone Pillars; an amazing forest of natural standing stone structures and Lake Balkai; the deepest fresh water lake in the world. Matthew was exceptionally interested and he kept the Russian talking, focusing on the many different landmarks he hoped to actually see.

Upon that scream of- either anger or joy, Matthew couldn't tell- Ivan paused in his speech and they both turned to the source; a blonde-haired woman in her early twenties, who smiled brightly and practically skipped to their table. Matthew recognized her immediately, after all, he hadn't met many of Russia's civilians and this one definitely stuck out; it was the girl from the club that had helped him find Ivan.

The one who thought he was gay, _with_ Ivan.

And they were conveniently at a restaurant alone.

Matthew blushed, staring at the table as the woman joyfully made it over, saying something happily. Ivan spoke to her, face looking blank, posture relaxed. The girl laughed, continuing the conversation. Canada glanced up slightly, watching with curiosity and a bit of worry. He felt left out, wishing he could speak Russia's language even more now, as nothing between the two gave him any information on the subject they spoke of.

"Matvey." Ivan called, and said Canadian jumped a bit. The woman squealed.

"Matvey," She repeated. "Мило!"

Russia smirked, thoroughly amused. "Vera, here," He nodded to the woman, introducing her, "Wants to take us out to a club on the other side of town."

"O-oh, I think I had enough of the clubs, eh?"

"It would be fun, da? Don't but such a- what was it you called me… fun-sucker?"

Matthew pouted. "What about Kumajin?"

"He will be _fine_."

Mauve eyes locked with a dark brown as Vera gave him a pleading look. "Pleez?" She attempted in English and Matthew's heart caved.

"Alright, we can go!" The human woman squealed and lurched forward to envelope him in a hug. Then she released him, stood back, spoke a few sentences to Ivan, in which the man merely nodded and said "Da," before she took off back the way she came from.

"That was interesting," He said lightly, a childish smile coming to his face. "She really likes you, Matvey!"

The blush darkened. "S-shut up. Anyway, why are you so eager to be dragged along with her?"

"I like clubs. They serve excellent vodka." Matthew rolled his eyes. "And you told me I should speak more to the civilians, da?"

"Oui." That brought back the smile on the blond's face and together they stood from the table, split the bill and walked outside to meet Vera and the girl she was with.

The girls seemed to have agreed on taking Ivan's car, because they followed them as they got into the Bentley, sliding into the back (much to Kumajirou's displeasure). The girls spoke rapidly about various things; never seeming to lack energy. Matthew felt extremely lazy and… old in their presence. He never failed to notice the subtle differences between Nation-kind and humans.

Overall, the longer he was around the mortal nature of the people they represented, the more details he noticed. While energetic himself, he felt relatively like one of the few adults in the group; lacking the crazy hyperactive attitude many of their "age" (appearance-wise) had. Physically, he was a more relaxed, laid-back young adult, maybe judged as a man peaking into his twenties.

Mentally, it was a whole other matter. In relation to his apparent age, he was more like an ancient grandpa in a teenager's skin. It was difficult to think about how _old_ he was when compared to these women- to know he had _thousands_ of years of hardships, experiences and good times over them.

_Russia had even more_, and looking over at him, Matthew tried to read the blank expression. He probably wouldn't have seen it unless he expected it, but the slight surprise and wonder in those eyes told Matthew that he felt the same. After all, while government officials were still mortal beings, they were at least wise and experienced in their age. These women had no expectations; they didn't try to act dignified or respectful- why would they? They weren't trying to impress anyone; unlike their governments who kissed their asses to get in good with their country.

It was a bit worrying, considering how much the young people of their nations were so overlooked; Matthew _did_ say that talking to all the different people of their country was important, but how often did he actually go to popular hangouts? Not nearly enough.

However, being around the Russian teenagers squealing in the back, laughing and joking like children on a sugar high… was refreshing. Matthew had no clue what they were saying but their mere actions and gestures when trying to explain things made him laugh. They made everything so loud and lively that Russia even _chuckled_ at something they said, apparently not annoyed with the extra noise and rowdiness at all.

It was great fun as they danced away to some songs on the radio, singing loudly and out of key. Matthew couldn't help but giggle with every verse, joining in when he could, much to Russia's amusement.

Kumajirou was forced to do a little dance too on the Canadian's lap, which absolutely thrilled the girls in the back.

Eventually Russia pulled into a brightly lit club; shining a neon green and blue with a palm tree on its sign. It was different than the one Matthew had found Ivan in; it was in a better part of town, first of all. Still not a classy place, but modern and popular with the locals. A mixture of people stood in a line along the sidewall, waiting to get in.

Ivan simply strolled passed all of them, much to the surprise of Canada, who didn't know what else to do but follow close behind. The women giggled and at their proximity and gathered in, subtly herding the Canadian closer, until Matthew gripped the Russian man's coat at the elbow and looked like he was being courted.

At the entrance of the club, Ivan said a few words to the bouncer (a man bigger than Russia and equally as terrifying) and was let in immediately, the other three following like ducklings. "Alright, have fun, I'll be at the bar." Ivan said over his shoulder, pointing to the far right where tables surrounded a round straw-like hut, with columns of liquor in the middle.

Everything was so bright; the theme seemed to be "a day or night at the beach" which actually worked well with everything; especially –Matthew couldn't help but blush, even though he'd seen things like it plenty of times before- the Bikini wearing dancers on a stage in the front of the room. They pranced around from side to side in their too-small swimsuits, breasts almost falling out. They would periodically strut to the crowd (mostly comprised of men) and bend down to collect tips; the typical 'stuff-a-dollar-as-far-down-as-it-can-go.'

A DJ was set up just to the side of the stage, keeping the beat for the dancers and collecting himself a of people who were here to have fun, not specifically for the show. Matthew didn't visit these kinds of establishments very often, not since he had been young (or in this case, much, much younger) and was curious enough.

Vera and her friend Anna giggled heading to the dance floor almost immediately, throwing coy looks back at Canada as they went. Matthew pretended not to see, and instead headed to the bar to get away from the crowd of people. With Kumajirou in his arms, he sat on a barstool next to Ivan, looking around and taking in the sights. "What kind of wine do they have here?" He asked.

Russia looked at him, an eyebrow rising in question. "You are _not_ getting _wine_."

Matthew gave him a cross between a glare and pout. "Why not?"

"It just doesn't fit- maybe when you're home, bored, and alone: da. But not at a party- that calls for a party-drink; hard liquor, shots, and anything else that gets you in the mood." He waved over the bartender, who strolled over as he nonchalantly wiped the counter along the way.

"I-Ivan, I don't-"

But Ivan was already ordering and the bartender took it all in and nodded, walking around the circular column holding all the ingredients and starting on the mixing- shaking, and stirring. He twisted the bottles in an impressive dexterous act to give the spectators a show; all while keeping the blank, robotic expression that Matthew was beginning to think was a trait all male Russians were born with.

Afterward, two different drinks were set before them; Matthew's a light brown but otherwise clear color, held in a cone-shaped bowl. A little decorative umbrella hung off the side to offer that _cuteness_ factor but, it was really only a disguise meant to cover up the biting not-so-innocent liquid within.

Ivan's was clear, almost water-like in appearance. Matthew wondered if his was simply straight-up vodka, like he would have at home, but when the Russian brought it to his lips and took a gulp he actually _winced_ at the strong taste; Canada ruled his first theory out. Ivan turned to him, "Drink it, Matvey," He said. "I think you'll like it, da?"

Canada stared at his drink, wondering if it was a good idea or not- after all, if Ivan's was strong enough to take him aback, then what the hell was his going to do- burn his insides like hydrochloric acid?

_Definitely not a good idea._

A timid hand reached for the glass, picking it up daintily. He could smell the alcohol as the rim of the glass touched his lips; the taint enough to make him think twice, but Russia's eyes bore into him and… suddenly, for some reason he wanted to do this. Matthew's doubts left his mind and with one tip of his wrist the bitter liquid slipped into his mouth and he gulped down his first mouthful.

The taste his it tongue like a freight train slamming full speed into a brick wall. It was strong, and powerful, with a hint of bitterness. Matthew could recognize that it was vodka- of course it would be vodka. However, it wasn't harsh like he expected it to be and a kind of aftertaste came over him; a sweet, sugary aftertaste that made his mouth salivate with the need for more. Matthew pulled back, looking at the drink in his hand with wide-eyed shock. He could hear Ivan laugh next to him. "Vodka Martinis can go with anything," He informed him, "Even _maple_."

Canada gave him a look similar to a puppy- no… more like a certain polar bear when it begged for food. "It's so good…" He whimpered, and took another swallow of his now favorite alcoholic beverage much to Ivan's amusement. Though the Russian threw the frilly umbrella out of his own drink like it insulted his manhood.

Matthew had barely finished the drink, savoring every sip, when the women they came with ran up next to them, giggling and latching onto to Canadian, begging for him to dance with them. "Танцевать," They repeated anxiously, pointing back at the dance floor excitedly.

Matthew grinned, "Okay! Let's go!"

Kumajirou sat in his place on the stool as the blond followed the girls, black eyes blinking as the Canadian got lost in the crowd. He wasn't too thrilled about this place seeing as he couldn't sleep with all the commotion. Crossing the distance from his seat into Russia's lap, he looked cutely up at the larger nation. "Loud," He complained.

Ivan tilted his head, "What do you want me to do about that?"

"Want to go."

"We just got here," The Russian frowned. He had loosened up considerably today and was actually having fun, he knew Matthew was too, it would be a shame to leave now. The bear whimpered, and Russia brought a hand up to pat the animal's head, sighing a bit and trying to think of a solution- he should have known the bear wouldn't have liked it here. Matthew had warned him about it earlier too…

"I can take you to the car," He offered. "You can sleep there."

"Yes."

Gulping down the rest of his drink, he stood, polar bear in his arms.

…oOo…

Never one for large crowds, Matthew was a bit wary of heading into the body of dancers at the center of the floor. He'd much rather dance where he had space; along the outskirts of the gathering. There was a less chance of injury (accidental elbow in the face, stomping on his feet, etc), it wasn't as hot (as it lacked the body heat from dozens of people) and he didn't want to be groped (intentionally or otherwise). Unfortunately, Vera and Anna, each taking an arm, wanted to be right in the middle of everything.

They pulled him rather insistently into the jumping, screaming crowd of bodies; pushing through until Matthew could only move a foot in either direction; his field of view taken up by the people surrounding him.

The girls' hand around his was the only thing that kept him from getting lost in the sea of people and when they were satisfied with a place to dance, they grinned at him and began to move; tapping their feet, rolling their hips, waving their arms.

Canada had never danced like this; the crowd, the party, the "having fun" was all part of his brother's scene. Matthew had only danced in ballrooms, oddly enough- government banquets, and receptions. France had taught him many dances such as the tango, quickstep, and waltz.

This was different from that; you were supposed to make the moves on your own, throwing in steps that were more modern. making it _sexy_ with the popping hips and the sensual, coy drops. One could never say he didn't try though. Nobody made fun of the way he danced and laughing, he attempted to keep the beat, failing occasionally.

Vera took him by the hand and spun around, laughing madly, though it was barely heard over the music. Their dancing lasted for a good ten minutes; passing through four songs. By that time Matthew had begun to sweat, his moves had become more fluid with practice and his posture relaxing as he forgot about the crowd and the pessimistic thoughts swimming through his head. He just had fun; he danced, he laughed, and sang horribly off-key when a song he knew came up (they played some songs in English, surprisingly).

Vera and Anna wandered off further into the crowd and Matthew continued to dance on his own a bit until a hand clasped his shoulder and he turned around to meet a smiling man a few inches taller than him. Dark hair highlighted a red in the neon strobe lights above them, gleaming off what looked like piercings along the outside of the man's ear and bottom lip. He said something in Russian and Matthew gave a smile and a shake of his head. "I can't understand you!" He yelled over the music.

The man just nodded and pointed to Canada, then himself, and started to dance. The blond laughed, mimicking the nod with a "Let's dance, then, eh."

It was the most fun Matthew ever remembered having in a long time. Sometime in the middle of it though, Matthew felt it was missing something. He made some kind of excuse and turned to leave the crowd, pushing through the people and making his way to the bar, looking for Ivan.

It took a while, but the Russian was found to the side, leaning back in a booth, watching the patrons and periodically sipping on his alcohol.

Matthew slid into the seat across from him, leaning his forehead on the table; the surface was made of some kind of mosaic tile that felt good on his heated skin. "You should dance!"

"Нет."

"Come on." He dragged out the last word.

"I don't dance."

"I bet you're secretly good at it."

There was no reply and Matthew grinned. "You _are_ aren't you?"

"Not at _that_," The Russian pointed to the crowd of people. "I don't dance like that."

"Me neither. Maybe it's because we're old, eh? All we know are the classic dances where everything is precise and… modest." He laughed, "Now you can get up there, shake your ass, and it's called talent."

"Da."

Matthew ordered another drink of whatever he had before and joked with Ivan as he sucked it down, anxious to get back out to the dance floor and spend some of this energy he had. A figure walked up to their table; the black haired man from before that Matthew had danced with, smiling coyly and motioning for Canada to follow him back out.

"Don't sit here like a bump on a log all night, ok?" He told Ivan, sliding out of the booth. "I expect at least one dance before we leave!"

Russia gave him a 'yeah right' look as the Canadian rushed off and as soon as the blond turned his back, Ivan's hard eyes met the deep browns of the man about to follow him. The guy looked a little on the frail side and has an unhealthy shade to his skin; he seemed to have the jitters and Ivan wondered if he was on something.

Despite the fact that this man was Russian and thus, considered Ivan's child, Russia couldn't help but distrust the boy. That feeling intensified as the man jogged up to the Canadian, wrapping an arm around his shoulders a bit too friendly manner.

A part of Ivan didn't like the situation at all.

The two stayed in sight, thankfully not delving into the crowd, choosing to dance on the outskirts. Quite a few times the black haired man would brush the Canadian in a place that would seem inappropriate and yet he passed it off as an accident with the way he danced and the push of the people around them. Matthew, to Ivan's surprise (and irritation) said nothing about these blatant touches- he looked like he didn't even realize- how _couldn't_ he?

Unless… the boy stumbled in his dance and had to grab onto the man to keep from falling. _He was fucking drunk._

He only had _two_ martinis!

"Light-weight." The Russian sighed. Realizing that indeed, the blond was drunk and that Ivan was to assume responsibility for him, because it wasn't simply a 'buzz' but a full on 'I'm-so-drunk-I-won't-remember-this-tomorrow' drunk. _Seriously?_

Familiar squeals were heard nearby and Ivan turned to see Vera and Anna coming over to sit in the booth Matthew had vacated, ordering drinks from one of the waiters walking around. "_It__'__s hot,_" Vera said. "_Where__'__s your boy?_"

"_He__'__s not mine,"_ Russia replied, but the blonde didn't seem to hear (or she ignored it). Anna pointed to the dancing Canadian who looked to be laughing at what the other man had done.

Vera gasped tragically at the sight. "_Go save him! You can__'__t let a boy like that slip through your fingers._"

"_He__'__s not mine._" Russia said louder.

The girls collected their drinks, some kind of bright colored, fruity concoction. Vera turned to him, serious. "_Boys like that will get eaten up if you don__'__t watch it,_" She said cryptically. "_Come on Anna! Let__'__s go see the dancers!_" And just as fast as they appeared, they took off, once again leaving Ivan alone at the table.

Bringing his glass to his lips, he glared over the rim at the Canadian and his "escort." Since his conversation with the women things seemed to have soured. Matthew was shaking his head, frowning a bit as the guy slid an arm around the blond's waist. It looked like the guy was trying to tug him away from the dance floor and Matthew didn't want to go.

Trying a new tactic, the man nodded, looking sympathetic before holding up a hand in a 'wait here' gesture as he jogged off the floor and to the bar. Ivan's eyes watched him carefully as the guy ordered something and upon a dark tinted glass being set in front of him, Ivan knew he had to interfere. It was clear the guy had intentions other than simply dancing and it would be just like Matthew to trust someone he didn't even know. Any kind of date-rape drug would affect them; not for as long or as intensely if given the standard amount, but Ivan figured Matthew didn't want to test it either way.

Ivan walked up just as the man presented the suspicious drink to Matthew. He wrapped his arm around the Canadian's shoulders, startling the boy. "Ivan," The blond said happily. "Are you here to dance with me now?"

He hummed noncommittally. "_You can leave now,_" He told the black haired man. "_Don__'__t come near him again._"

The man, for a split second looked as if he'd argue, before nodding tightly, gritting his teeth, and turning around. Ivan figured that was too easy. "We should leave." He said to Matthew.

"But it seems like we just got here!"

"We've been here for three hours."

"You still haven't danced with me!"

Russia glared. "I don't dance."

"Everyone dances," Matthew protested, and he shifted, standing straight, directly in front of the Russian, taking the large hands in his own small ones. "Something fast like… the swing dance, eh?"

"Нет."

"_Oui_, do it!"

"Matvey I-"

"Before I fuckin' beat you up, eh?"

The comment was so random and confident that Ivan burst out laughing. "Right, whatever, not like you can keep your balance anyway, you're wasted."

"Try me!"

Ivan smirked, stepping closer, one hand holding Matthew's the other going around to settle on the small of his back. They both started perfectly, Ivan taking a step forward, Matthew stepping back. The Russian lead, but Matthew was milliseconds behind him, knowing the dance by heart. He didn't stumble in his drunken stupor, but a crooked grin remained on his face and giggles escaped him every now and then. "I love this dance." He stated.

Russia twisted, pushing the man away and spinning the Canadian under his arm before pulling the blond back in. There was tricky footwork which they both pulled off without a single flaw before Russia turned again, his arms crossing in front of Canada, capturing him in an embrace-like hold before releasing. Canada laughed, holding their joined hands up in the hair as they stepped back and forth, his free hand braced on Ivan's bicep.

When the song ended he was breathing hard, face flushed, grinning happily. "That was so much fun!" Ivan smiled, amused as the Canadian leaned against him.

"We should go home now."

"Okay! Where's Kolagi?"

"Who?"

Matthew pouted, "My bear! You sound just like him!"

"In the car, where we're headed, let's go." He waved at Vera and Anna as they made their way to the door. The girls giggled at the sight of them and said their goodbyes as they had made their arrangements for a ride home.

The two nations made their way to the door, out of the club and to the car. Ivan helped Matthew inside, where he was like "Kocali!" and snuggled into the bear who was more confused than usual at the different name he was given.

Ivan chuckled, started the car, and making sure the radio was off, he drove back to the house. With the lack of noise and commotion, the Canadian began to calm, going from a hyperactive talker to an exhausted child, yawning between every sentence and slipping in and out of short naps.

Once parked in the garage Ivan didn't know what to do with him. Shaking his shoulder got the boy to wake up, but simply opening the side door was difficult for the Canadian. Russia eventually had to drag the boy out by his arm. "Owie, stop'et."

"Then move."

"I am. Things're just movin' too fast."

Rolling his eyes, Russia bent down and swept Canada off his feet; lifting him up bridal style, much to Canada's enjoyment (he gave a rather giddy laugh). "You know, I ne'er had so much fun. And… you're actually carryin' me, wow. France said I was fat- though I think he thought I was America. Cause America is fat."

"Da."

"Do you think I'm fat?"

"What are you, a woman?" The Russian asked, bringing the Canadian upstairs.

"Non," He giggled. "Veux tu que je le sois?"

"I didn't understand that, Matvey."

"Tout chez toi m'émerveille."

"Speak English."

"Non." Matthew giggled again.

Russia threw the Canadian on his bed and the blond giggled again, clearly enjoying the action. "Go to bed." He turned to walk out but was stopped as Matthew called his name.

"Thank you. I've never been so happy before."

"You won't be happy in the morning." Ivan murmured, watching Kumajirou waddle onto the bed and under the Canadian's lax arm. He sighed, turned off the light, and shut the door.

In truth, he couldn't remember a time when he was so happy either.

…Thank You…

Ha ha, I recommend listening to some dance music while reading the last part. It makes everything so much better. XD

I have a new Beta! In case you were wondering why this chapter is so… beautiful! Special thank you and welcome on board: Nidorikichidori.

Now, for some important information! Some of you may have noticed, if you poked around on my profile, the interesting little poll regarding Matthew. Yes, it does involve Giving In, and the time to vote is _now_! The poll will be open for 2-3 more chapters, so you have about a month to duke it out and help me decide where the story goes! :P

_Translations:_

Это ты! Анна, это та самая пара, о которой я говорила тебе! (Russian): It's you! Anna, this is the couple I was telling you about!

Мило (Russian): Cute

Танцевать (Russian): Dance

Veux tu que je le sois? (French): Do you want me to be?

Tout chez toi m'émerveille (French): Everything about you amazes me

_Disclaimer_: I own nothing, and I made up the names for some of these places (The Sunflower, and the club) so if there are actual places with this name or theme, etc (probably are) don't sue me! I have no idea! I make no money from this! DX


	19. Lumière: Light

Chapter 19: Light: Lumière

Matthew groaned in his sleep, rolling over in his bed- a bed he once found was soft and wonderful but now it felt rock-solid, with itchy covers and a spring in his back. The heavy duty curtains covering the big window to his left didn't seemed to be doing their job in keeping out the sunlight and he couldn't find the right position to get out of the ray of light without smothering himself into some pillows. He tried, at least, but he could only go without air for so long and holding his breath for what seemed like hours (but must have only been five minutes), made his head pound.

Much to his displeasure, it seemed like his body wanted more sleep yet his brain was convinced it was time to awaken. And with a headache the size of Newfoundland, it was a battle his body was doomed to lose. Sighing, he sat up groggily, groaning again as the room tilted and his head pounded even more ferociously than before. Through hooded eyes he looked around to orient himself, looking for familiar clues. He was still in the same clothes he wore last night, complete with shoes and hoodie. He wasn't even under the covers… when did he even get to bed anyway?

Thinking hurt. And his mouth was incredibly dry; tasting like dried seaweed and olives. It was horrible, and he groaned as he struggled to get off the bed. Shedding his clothes as he stepped into the bathroom, he leaned over the tub to start a nice hot shower.

The heat and the rhythmic beat of the shower woke him up a bit, and once things in his head seemed to jump start and actually _work_ things from last night came across his mind and, instead of freaking out about how irresponsible and ridiculous he acted while under the influence, he smiled. Because no matter how out of character he acted, remembering how Ivan smiled, laughed, and danced… it was worth it. Matthew couldn't help but feel light and happy upon stepping out of the shower even if his head still pounded and his feet dragged behind him.

He brushed his teeth, smiling as he wondered how many people could say they've danced with Ivan Braginski, and as he changed into a clean black button-up and dark washed jeans, he tried to predict how today would go. Ivan probably wouldn't be suffering from a hangover, that lucky bastard, so he shouldn't be grouchy. Perhaps, if he had fun last night, which Matthew hoped he did, the Russian would be happy even?

"Who?"

Kumajirou's voice brought him out of his thoughts and back to reality and the Canadian smiled at his friend looking at him blankly from the bed. "Canada, Kumasaji, the guy who feeds you."

"Oh."

Matthew swept the bear up into his arms, hugging his friend and wishing him a good morning before heading to the door, picking up his glasses along the way, sliding them onto the end of his nose. "Time for breakfast, eh? I bet you're hungry. I wonder where Russia keeps his Tylenol."

He turned the handle, pulling the door open and stepping into the hallway without looking where he was going. It was certainly a surprise when he immediately ran into a solid body about the same size as his own, it was like two freight trains slamming into each other head on, going full speed. It jarred his whole body, and he stumbled back, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead, where they collided; he looked up through teary eyes to see Lithuania doing the same.

"Ow, I'm sorry," Canada apologized.

"N-no, it's fine, it's my fault. I'm sorry."

"D-did you need something?"

"I was looking for Belarus, actually."

"N-next room over…"

"Oh."

There was a period of silence between the two as they looked at each other, rubbing their injuries (Matthew's headache seemed to have intensified tenfold, but he hid that rather well).

"F-Forgive me but… may I ask why you are here Mr… uh."

"Canada," Matthew filled in. "And I'm staying with Russia for a while. It's a culture exchange idea."

Lithuania made a strange face. "I-I see," Matthew could tell he didn't see at all.

"What about you?"

"Oh, um… We were invited to the Spasskaya Bashnya by Miss Ukraine. I c-couldn't say no, you see."

"Oh. Well I'm sure it'll be fun."

"Y-yes, I'm sure," Lithuania looked a bit unconvinced. "Well, I'm going to go now; I'm s-sorry for bumping into you."

"Don't be, it was m-my fault."

Neither of them looked as if they would back down and simply place the blame on the other so they simply took the other's apology and went their separate ways somewhat awkwardly. Matthew trudged down the stairs, Kumajirou in hand, mumbling in French and nursing his throbbing head. On the couch in the living room he saw Estonia and Latvia, talking to each other in soft voices as they watched TV. What surprised him the most though, was a third body seated in the armchair; someone he didn't expect at all and was quite shocked to see.

He did a little double-take as he recognized the embodiment of France, leaning back in the armchair, chin in hand, legs crossed elegantly. He looked almost bored, staring at the television blankly. "F-Francis," Matthew asked.

Nobody heard him though and they continued as they were, not noticing him yet.

"Francis," He tried again, but apparently, seeing as nothing changed, he was invisible again. "P-Papa!"

"You still call him your father," A different voice answered him, and Matthew turned to see Ivan coming out of his study. Latvia squeaked from the couch, ducking a bit behind Estonia. France looked up with a smile.

"Ah, La Russie! Good morning mom ami!"

"Da, Francis. Nice of you to come."

"Of course! To see so many military music bands play so wonderfully, it's a sight I would not want to miss, non?"

"We have a new guest to witness today," Russia added with a childish smile, showing that he was a bit annoyed with the situation despite the "happy" expression.

"Oh," France wondered. "Whom has this pleasure?"

"Canada, da," He said. _The one standing right in front of me,_ The Russian thought dryly.

Light blue eyes blinked, and upon that action it seemed like Canada's presence was just suddenly _there_. "Oh! Mon petite Mattieu!" The Frenchman lunged over, snatching the blond in a big hug, arms wrapped tight around the smaller's torso. "So happy to see you!"

"O-oui," Matthew mumbled through the fabric of France's black jacket (top quality material and the newest fashion in Paris of course).

"You should see your Père more often! Je te manques terriblement!"

"Désolé, j'ai été très occu-" Matthew's sentence left off in a squeak as a rather bold hand squeezed his bottom firmly. Kumajirou, who had been trapped between them in the hug, seemed to have lost his patience and started to squirm, giving a loud growl.

"Ow," France yelped, letting go of the Canadian and backing away, holding a hand to his chest where one of the polar bear's claws got him. Gasping dramatically, he took a closer inspection at his chest, or rather, the small tear in the cloth of his shirt. "He tore it!"

Matthew, face red from Francis' grope, stuttered out an apology. Kumajirou sniffed, as if he was proud of the work he did.

Russia smirked a bit, seeing Kumajirou's humor.

"R-right, well, um. Should I go make breakfast," Matthew asked, desperate to do something other than stand there being embarrassed. Russia giggled childishly, enjoying the flustered look.

"Da."

Canada nodded, paused, and then leaned closer to whisper to Ivan only, "Do you have anything for a headache?"

"Feeling a little hung over, Matvey," He asked, amused.

Matthew pouted, poking the man in the arm, "Your fault."

"You took the drink."

"Of course I did, it was maple!"

"So if I gave you maple flavored cyanide, would you drink it?"

The poke turned into a playful punch. "So full of humor, when did that happen?"

Another smile, "You make it easy." And another pout. "I'll bring you something, da?"

Canada nodded, looking relieved. "Thank you. Um, how many people are we expecting?"

"Germany, Italy, Turkey, and Switzerland, have yet to show."

"I had no idea this was going to be so big."

"With every year it gets bigger," Russia replied wistfully. "America may show up too. His military honor guard is performing as well; however, he doesn't usually visit me." He shrugged, looking like he couldn't possibly know why Alfred never visited him, throwing a childish smile in there to amplify the effect.

Matthew smiled too, both at the man's humor and that he was proud of Russia being a host for so many visitors, _willingly and happily_- it warmed his heart. He patted the man's arm, turning around to start cooking a breakfast for many. Estonia, Latvia, and France watched him go, a little confused on what they had just witnessed between the two.

Francis frowned slightly, concerned. "Mon ami," He attempted. Ivan turned around to stroll down the hall and France followed a few steps behind. "What is mon petite Mattieu doing here?"

"He is invited to the show," The Russian stated, walking into his room and into the master bathroom. France lagged at the door, not wanted to intrude.

"But… he is not performing."

"Neither is Lithuania, Estonia, or Latvia." There was a rummaging around in the bathroom before Ivan came back out. "Is it a bad thing that Matvey is here?"

"Well… I suppose not. Just a surprise is all!" He waved his hand with flare. "I did not know you were so close."

"We are not."

"P-pardonnez-moi then."

Ivan walked past the Frenchman, through the living room and into the kitchen where Matthew looked to be mixing some kind of batter. Russia gathered a glass from the cabinet, a coke from the refrigerator and a can of instant coffee. Matthew peeked around his shoulder to see what he was doing as he mixed things in his bowl. "Coffee and coke? Together?"

"Da."

"I was expecting some kind of horrible concoction."

"I could give you russol; pickle or sauerkraut brine." Matthew wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Or Kvass."

"Sounds gross, I'll take the coke-coffee."

Ivan chuckled, handling the glass to him along with a couple Alka-Seltzer. The blond gulped it down, thanking the Russian happily. "Wanna help cook? I'll share my special pancake recipe!"

There was a ruckus in the living room, as Belarus, Ukraine, and Lithuania joined the guests on the couch, gathering around and talking. Their voices may have been in normal tones but together, the noise grew into a crescendo and Ivan didn't look too thrilled to be in the middle of all that. "I'll help."

Matthew grinned, "Awesome."

A tug on his sleeve brought the Russian next to him, looking over the stove and the heating pan on top of it. Russia watched as the blond poured the batter into the pan, large and round in shape, several in a row. Listening to Matthew's soft voice explaining the perfect time to flip the pancakes, watching the strong hands weld the spatula like a pro, and the bright violet eyes looking alive and happy- Ivan smiled at the energy and enthusiasm lightening up the boy's image. As the hangover steadily cleared and Matthew looked less like a mussed teen with little sleep to a bright boy with cheerfulness to spare.

After the cooking lesson in which Russia didn't pay much attention to, the Canadian continued to cook in happy silence. Until he started to hum, and then, gradually, sing. "I'm not yours, and you're not mine, but we can sit and pass the time." Ivan looked over at the boy, wondering whether or not to snap at him for disturbing the peace. "No fighting wars, no ringing chimes. We're just feeling fine."

The lyrics of the song stopped him though, and he simply leaned against the counter to continue listening, after all, Matthew wasn't a horrible singer, and this kind of sound was different than the meaningless drabble coming from his living room.

"I could wait a thousand hours; stay the same in sun and showers. Pick apart a hundred flowers- just to be quiet. Tell me when you feel ready, I'm the one, there's not too many. Hold my hand, to keep me steady- just to be quiet with you, with you."

It was soothing actually, Ivan discovered, to listen to Matthew's voice. There were many instances in which the Canadian's voice irritated him over the course of his stay- it was too meek, quiet, feminine. However, here lately, it seemed to have the opposite effect; such as in the study the other day; that soft voice brought him out of his violent thoughts. Random moments when the blond said something completely unexpected; _Trust me- I'm sorry- Ivan- dance with me._

Even when singing it just… calmed him.

"Oh, Mattieu! Where are you cher?" The beautiful song ended and Ivan found himself frowning slightly as France peeked into the kitchen. "You are cooking?"

"Oui, Papa."

"I'm sure it'll be délicieux!" The man practically skipped over to the boy, arm sliding around the waist in an overly affectionate gesture, but Matthew only smiled, apparently not seeing the perverse intention within the act. Kumajirou came around the corner as well, black eyes seemingly glaring at the Frenchman with such intensity Ivan almost laughed at the sight.

"It's smells so good! I taught you well, oui?"

Matthew giggled, nodding, unaware of the hand slowly crawling down his side, around to the back. _Honestly, the boy was as oblivious as America!_ They were brothers in that aspect, apparently.

The long fingers, millimeters from the round flesh of Matthew's bottom suddenly halted as Kumajirou gave a roar, nails clicking on the floor as he dashed for France's heels. The Frenchman yelped at the sound, dodging the bear's attack and running around the counter, Kumajirou at his ankles.

Matthew looked shocked, Ivan started to laugh. "K-Kumajirou, what…"

"Your bear," Ivan sniggered. "Sure is protective, da?"

"I don't understand-"

"Mattieu! S'il te plait, sauve-moi," France attempted to sound composed and dignified, and yet, his frantic actions to keep distance between his limbs and the sharp teeth of Kumajirou negate that.

Matthew opened his mouth to berate his friend for his behavior but Ivan's hand in front of his face stopped him, "Нет, let him continue. France deserves it, da?"

Against his better judgment and confused nature, Matthew did just that and watched with everyone else as the Frenchman ran around the house, jumping over furniture and hiding behind things, a semi ravage bear close behind showing off energy that he rarely displayed.

Ivan chuckled at the scene every once and a while and Matthew shook his head, smirking when the man couldn't see.

Soon enough though, the food was done; Matthew hadn't cooked so many pancakes in one go in a very long time. With a side of bacon, and eggs it was bound to feed everyone. Just in time too, for the bell rang as Matthew was setting up plates and utensils and from the ruckus in the foyer Matthew could recognize the voices of Germany, Italy, and England. Italy was all smiles and laughter, walking into the large house with amazement, like he'd never been there before saying something along the line of "It's beautiful, I love what you did with it!"

And Germany practically keeled over trying to keep the boy out of trouble; seeing as Feliciano had practically flew in an attempt to hug Russia out of some form of over-excitement: crisis averted. It was cute the way such a serious nation assumed such responsibility over the smaller Italian, especially when, at first sight, they looked to be completely opposites in everything- Matthew wondered what they could possibly have in common that keeps them together. Whatever it was, it worked, and it was absolutely adorable to his hopeless romantic self.

England came in with a stiff back, but smiled politely nonetheless; he may look aloof and uncomfortable but Matthew knew that United Kingdom-Russian Federation relations were going well at the moment; Arthur was one of the few European nations that had a favorable opinion of Ivan.

Switzerland said nothing as he walked in, simply nodded in greeting, hands in his pockets, back straight; Matthew couldn't see any of his famous weaponry on him, but the Canadian would bet the nation held some kind of firearm on his person.

One had to understand that, much like a family (even if there were no blood relations or marriages) some nations were considered as one; wherever Switzerland went, Liechtenstein was only a few steps behind. Thus, she hid behind her older brother like a meek little girl, smiling shyly at everyone- a deep contrast to Vash's ever-present scowl.

When Finland entered the warmth of the home next, smiling happily and greeting Russia warmly, Matthew wasn't surprised in the least as Sweden shrugged through the doorway behind him. As big as Russia himself, the men shook hands, identical blank expressions on their faces; for Sweden, this blank look seemed more of a glare. Hardly hostile however; and the northern nation wrapped an arm around Finland's shoulders a minute later.

"My w'fe an' I 're exc'ted t' be 'ere," He mumbled in his thick accent that Matthew had a hard time understanding as he wasn't used to it, he giggled though as Finland turned and interesting shade of red.

"Stop calling me that," The man whined. Sweden didn't seem to hear him.

Ivan returned from greeting his guests, stealing a piece of bacon along the way. Matthew slapped at his hand, earning a glare. "Why aren't you entertaining your visitors?"

"I never do; too much noise, annoyances, energy, and tension. And they don't like me around anyway. They only come because their bands get to compete with each other. It is not a friendly gathering Matvey."

Canada looks pointedly at the group of nations in the living room, laughing and socializing. "That looks real tense," He replied sarcastically.

"That's because I am not there," Ivan answered. "Matvey, I don't do well with crowds; I don't talk to people- if it is not about work or something… well, not _light_, then I am no good."

"You just need practice is all," Canada argued. "And you've done wonderfully these past few days." Ivan shrugs noncommittally and Matthew rolls his eyes. "Well, tell everyone the food is ready, eh? Time to eat!"

As everyone ate together; either at the dining room table or spread out in the kitchen or living room in groups, Ivan was forced to sit with someone, and so, when he had a plate of pancakes ready, Matthew grabbed him by the elbow and led him to Germany, Italy, England, and France. Kumajirou had finally stopped chasing him and flopped down on the cool wood floor, looking cross and ready for another go should Francis put a toe out of line.

"Hello Arthur," Matthew greeted, and England looked started at his presence. "Germany, Italy."

"Alfred?"

"Non, L'Angleterre, this is Mattieu, mon petite Canada."

"I-I knew that, frog!"

Italy smiled, overjoyed. "Ve, hello Matteo!"

Matthew smiled back, "How is everything?"

"Great! These pancakes are amazing, ve! Like Pasta, only for breakfast! Oh, Pasta would have been good for breakfast."

Germany frowned. "Italy, pasta is not a breakfast food."

"But it's good, isn't it, Doitsu," The Italian asked, using a Japanese form of Germany's name, once used as a joke, but now it kind of stuck; just like America's nickname for England being "Iggy," derived from Japan's "Igirisu" (he heard Japan calling him that and busted out laughing for ten straight minutes, then annoyed the hell out of England with it for ten years).

Kiku had influenced many people, hadn't he? Even Matthew a bit; he did so love the quiet nation's movie and comic book collection (he had been forced into Alfred's Japanese Horror Movie Marathon nights many a time).

Germany's cheeks reddened but he nodded curtly, "Ja, your pasta is very good, Italy." And the little Italian cheered at the praise as if he'd won a world championship gold metal or something, flinging himself onto the German (practically throwing the food off the plates and sending them both to the floor). Germany looked as if he'd had practice with these random tackles though, and he stood his ground, keeping their food steady, with nothing but a twitch.

Matthew giggled at them, smiling up at Russia and making a snide comment about how Ivan should get glomped, "Take that for training, eh? Always on your toes; let your guard down and you'll be on the ground like you were run over by a seven foot mucker."

England snorted in amusement, "Who else would randomly attack people, besides Italy? Especially Russia."

France grinned, and his hand reached down to cop a feel of the short Briton's ass. "I would," He said cheerfully. Snarling, England merely jerked his arm back, ramming his elbow into France's gut harshly. Francis bent over, groaning; Arthur nodded, satisfied.

Ivan tilted his head a bit, faking curiosity. "France would hug me, similar to Italy?"

Something in French was mumbled out from gritted teeth and Matthew laughed, being the only one to catch that (other than England, who knew French and often pretended he didn't). "He said you'd do worse than punch him if he did."

A strange giggle came from Russia then; a _kolkolkol_ laugh that made everyone shift nervously, "What if I wanted a hug?"

"Do you," Matthew asked.

Ivan's smile widened into a grin, "Depends on who is going to hug me."

Francis gave a laugh, finally seeming to recover. He straightened up, looking at Ivan with a matching grin, "Who would you _like_ to hug you, mon ami."

Matthew rolled his eyes, wondering why this conversation was turning perverted- well actually, no wondering was needed; France was involved = awkward topics of embarrassment.

"Getting a hug from Italy would be nice, da?"

Germany glared, tightening his grip on the Italian possessively.

"Oui, sweet little Italy. But may I also suggest cute Finland?"

Ivan giggled. "Da, Finland gives such wonderful hugs."

"I would think-"

"Oh, bloody hell, enough with the perverted innuendos now. Shut up, France, before I rip you another one."

Francis faked a wounded look. "I was going to mention you next, mon cher."

"I said shut up!"

The doorbell rang just as the two got into another argument, about to turn violent. Matthew excused himself from the group, putting his empty plate in the sink and heading to the foyer to greet the visitor. Immediately after he pulled open the heavy door he was bombarded with an angry American who was expecting Russia obviously.

"Russia, you bastard, your taxi driver almost wrecked _three times_ and your airports _suck ass._ I'm fuckin' hungry as all hell, you better have something besides your disgusting _soup_ to eat; I want- what the hell," Alfred cut himself off upon noticing the man in front of him and seeing that this was definitely _not_ Russia. "M-Mattie?"

"Hi, Al," Matthew waved a bit, smiling slightly. "Um, Russia's inside. And I made pancakes, so you can help yourself. Come on in."

America stepped inside with a dazzled and confused look, and he opened his mouth, most likely about to ask why Matthew was here, when England noticed him from the living room. "Oh, Alfred, do close your mouth, it's impolite. It makes you look less stupid as well; if just a bit."

Alfred's gaze immediately narrowed in on the Briton, "Oi, I hadn't even walked through the door and you're on my case. What's got your panties in a twist?"

Arthur's face turned and interesting hue of red, "Oh, like I'm supposed to forget the slew of insults you left on my messaging machine yesterday?"

America actually blushed, "That… was the result of too many shots of tequila." Arthur didn't look impressed. "What? I was with _Mexico_, and he wanted to parade around like some kind of-"

"Alfred, be nice," Matthew interrupted him. He was one of the few who had the utmost _joy_ to witness the kinds of name-calling thrown back and forth between the US and Mexico; for the most part, the two got along swell, however, it wasn't without complaints. Matthew actually compared their relationship to France and England; the results were eerily similar.

"Anyway, it was his birthday so…" He coughed. "Ugh, I had a hangover the whole flight too."

"What a coincidence," Matthew murmured. Alfred threw him a look Canada couldn't read, and Matthew shifted away, heading back to the kitchen, cursing to himself the entire way. America was not supposed to be here… Alfred was always perceptive about particular things. Seemingly oblivious and stupid most of the time, but Matthew could admit the man had a brain, and yes, he frequently_ used_ it.

He pushed at Ivan's arm as he walked passed and the Russian subtly followed him with the intention of putting up his plate. As soon as they were out of earshot Matthew turned to him with a frown, whispering fastidiously, "Alfred is here!"

"Da…"

"You said he wouldn't be."

"I said he usually doesn't, not that he wouldn't." Petulantly crossing his arms over his chest, Canada practically emitted concern. Ivan tilted his head a bit, "Why does this bother you?"

Matthew's bright eyes connected with his own. "Alfred's already suspicious."

"… He hasn't been here for more than five minutes-"

"He knows! He's going to freak out and demand I stay away from you or-"

"Is he your brother or your keeper?"

"I'm not going to let him boss me around but-"

"Then what is the problem?"

Matthew sent a sharp, irritated glare to the Russian, "If you will let me _finish_, I'll tell you." He peeked to the living room, making sure everyone was still where they were supposed to be. "America, though, he is _not _my keeper," He glared, emphasizing his words. "Likes to at least _try_ and monitor those I'm close to. He won't be happy if he sees we are close and…" The glare fell away to the worried look he wore before, and he unconsciously bit at his lip. "I don't want to cause problems between us."

Russia didn't really understand. America was a brat, and Canada would rather avoid confrontation with the boy and allow himself to be bullied? Although, apparently the Canadian didn't see it as an attempt at control, but America was definitely trying to assert some kind of authority in his opinion. Ivan would never back down from such a stupid threat; he did what he wanted, associated with whom he wanted, and destroyed all those who opposed his choices.

"What are you trying to say, Matvey? That you are going to leave because your brother may not wholly _approve_," The slight tone of his voice told Matthew that the Russian was not happy about that prospect.

Shaking his head furiously, Canada tried to put a reassuring smile on his face, "Just that… let's look like we simply tolerate each other and are not… well, close like we have been." Ivan lifted an eyebrow and Matthew blushed. "You know what I mean!"

"Da," Ivan smiled then, reaching up to pat the Canadian on the head. "That shouldn't be too hard."

"What does that mean, eh?" However, the man was already walking back to the guests, choosing to stand by Ukraine and speak to her, watching the European Nations and their interesting antics.

Matthew joined them after a while, involved in the group but not in the conversation. After all, with more people around it seemed like his level of invisibility increased exponentially. He was thankful for it this time though, as it gave him time to think and observe.

Germany and Sweden seemed close, which didn't surprise Canada as he had knowledge of their relations regarding political and economic situations. For two nations of such stern standards and little to say, their conversations were curt and to the point; hardly much humor unless they spoke about their respective charges; Italy and Finland. The latter two were pleasantly talking to each other in happy tones, the topics ranging from pasta, to the seas, to the seasons.

France, England, and America made their own group, with Alfred taking up the most attention as he was prone to do, and England ranting about perverted frogs and idiotic Yankees.

Switzerland and Liechtenstein stayed close together as well, Vash reclined on the couch, looking grumpy, and his sister sat beside him, glancing around interestedly, but looking too shy and attached to her brother to venture out and participate in the gathering.

Canada liked the atmosphere, it was a lot lighter than what one would find in a world meeting; no politics or problems were being discussed thus no feathers were ruffled. However, Canada couldn't help but see the unconscious boundaries the nations had set up; each of them shifting into their own pods; limiting who they associated with.

In a way, the world meetings forced everyone to interact regardless of past issues or relations. They were all forced to sit at this big, usually round table, that put no country above another, allowed everyone to be seen equally, and meant to force every nation to acknowledge all others.

It was different now though; and Matthew wished they were all together, to offer a larger bank of conversations. Of course, if Matthew wanted to, he could go from group to group, talking to those he wanted to. He wanted to ask Finland about his Environmental problems; Matthew had been concerned about the charts he'd seen about the issue, Tino and he might not have been the best of friends but they got along fairly well.

He wanted to ask Italy about a certain Italian dish he had heard about, the boy truly was a great cook and Matthew felt they could tear up the kitchen if they had the chance: astound the world with an array of foods. There was nothing much to be said to Switzerland, but to his understanding Liechtenstein passed much of her time reading; discussing the many different books they have read would be interesting.

However, it seemed like, no matter how much he wanted to wander to the others, America, France, and England kept him close. Alfred had wrapped an arm around his little brother's shoulders, leaning against him, not worried at all about his deceptive figure in relation to his actual weight. So despite the fact that Canada was ignored and left out of the conversation, there was little he could do to rectify that.

"Hey, Iggy, we're riding with you, yeah?"

The Briton scoffed, "I have half a mind to refuse, it's not my fault you were daft enough to forget to rent a car."

"Mon cher, what need do we have to rent a car when we knew _you_ would?"

"On account that I leave your arse behind," Was the snappy reply, but Matthew knew the man would eventually give in and drive the rest of the group to red square, and when the time came, everyone shuffled to the door in an excited mass of jubilation.

Matthew was immediately dragged along to the small Nissan Arthur slid into. Alfred yelled an obnoxious "shotgun!" before rushing to the passenger side, grinning in victory as France pouted. Looking over his shoulder, Matthew caught a glimpse of Ivan being herded to his car by Belarus, latched at his arm as if she belonged there. The Baltic States huddled together, following timidly, and Ukraine followed behind them at a slower pace.

She turned just in time to lock eyes with Canada, attempting a smile that wobbled. It broke him slightly, as he could see the worry in the light blue orbs; he wished he could ride with her and Ivan, he really did.

"Yo, Matt, hurry up, man, we're about to leave you!" Matthew's surprised they didn't, and now he kind of wished they did; he wouldn't have to ride with them then.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to give his biggest, most confident smile to Katyusha, reassuring her that nothing had changed, just put on hold.

He crawled into the back seat with France, Kumajirou on his lap, buckled up, and turned around to see Ukraine get in the Bentley with her family. He hoped things wouldn't degenerate in there; Ivan's mood wasn't likely to hold up with so many people around him, especially as Belarus was taking every moment to her advantage, clinging to him like a stubborn tick and sending him triumphant looks all the while.

Matthew sighed, straightening in his seat as they left the house. Kumajirou looked up at him, sensing his down-spiraling mood. "Who?"

"Canada."

"What?"

"Nothing…"

…oOo…

By the time they finally found parking spaces and everyone had met once again, Matthew's mood had since plummeted. England had gotten him confusedwith Alfred _three_ times, France had harassed him about his social life lacking any _thrill _twice, and America flat out asked who the hell he was once. Only after he freaked out, thinking he was a ghost in the back seat of the car, of course.

It was ridiculous. _I mean, can't they remember who I am for at least a few minutes at a time?_

"So when does this shindig start," America asked, looking petulantly at Russia as they stood in one of the gardens Matthew and Ivan had been to. A little further down would be the park bench they sat on yesterday. However, compared to their visit then, he didn't feel very peaceful, even with the flowers and elegant statues, this time around.

"Not long now, da."

"Ve, Russia, will Japan show up?"

"I believe he said he's running a day late."

"Don't worry, Italy, this thing is three days long, we'll see him eventually."

"Ok, as long as Doitsu is here!"

"Are you actually blushing, Germany?"

"He is! Ha ha!"

Finland caught Matthew's eye and they smiled to each other, "Hello… um."

"Matthew twitched. "Canada, eh?"

"Yes, Canada. How are you?"

"Fine, I-"

"Yo, lil bro," America jerked him by the arm, away from Finland and close to him. "We have to sit together; I want to show you my honor guard!"

"A-Al, I saw them not long ago, when our bosses met, remember?"

"Uh…"

"You don't. _My_ guards gave you such a good welcome too."

"You have an honor guard?"

Arthur looked over, overhearing the conversation, "You'd have to have a military to have an honor guard."

"Exactly," Alfred nodded wisely.

Canada's face was red with anger by then. "Alfred," He hissed. "You asshole, I _do_ have a military and I'm sick of you saying I don't! Just how many times have I had to save your ass? How many times have I gone along with your harebrained ideas? Thanks to me, some of them actually _work! _You absolute _moron_!"

The entire group had fallen silent, watching the Canadian as he ranted and yelled, most with a shocked expression, others (including Russia) looked quite amused.

Alfred's lip wavered. "M-Mattie," He whined. "Why are you being so mean to your hero?"

"You're not a hero, you're a pain."

And then there were tears, "W-Why would you say that?"

Matthew's anger started to fade at that; he didn't want to make his brother cry (mostly), he was just… these past few weeks seemed to put him on a shorter fuse than usual. The fact that all his hard work was being erased so easily…

Or perhaps it was the way he had gotten used to being _seen_. Russia, Belarus, and Ukraine had noticed him- probably because there weren't too many others to talk to in that huge house of Ivan's, but they had. Not once was he mistaken for Alfred, and he may have been 'invisible' walking through the rooms, but when he spoke, he was listened to. He had conversations and was included in things when it was just him and Ivan.

Now… things went right back to before: ignored, invisible, unimportant. It wasn't _alright_ to not notice him anymore- he wanted to be seen and he wanted to participate, like Russia would allow him to, even if all they did was bicker and fight.

"I-I'm sorry, Al, I just… Don't be so conceited." There was a period of awkward silence as nobody knew how to recover from what they had just witnessed and Canada thought _what the hell, I don't care anymore_, turned to Russia and put on an expectant expression. "So, are we going to red square or what? Let's go."

"Da," The Russian's smile made it clear how hilarious he thought the situation had been. Matthew growled at him, reaching out to pull at the man's sleeve, started to drag him, and consequently the entire group towards the famous red square. Ivan giggled, "Excited, Matvey?"

"Thrilled," The Canadian answered dryly.

…Thank You…

Here it is!

This was a difficult chapter to write, seriously, and not because I had any kind of writers block. Thing was, I planned on making this chapter really long and upbeat, introduce the other countries, and set up the mood. However, I'm a detail freak who loves to go deep into the characters… there were too many! Ha ha.

I wanted to focus on Sweden and Finland, then on Germany and Italy, and Lithuania with Belarus- too many to pack in and my mind was overloaded. Ha ha. I guess I won't be writing too many World Conference meetings, seeing as everyone interacting with each other would take forever to write out. I wish I had that kind of time, sadly, this was already late, and I didn't want you guys to wait too long, thinking I quit on ya'll.

Got the Sims 3 Ambitions (expansion pack); pretty cool. Not many things I can use for Hetalia characters, but I'll create them once again (the old characters have died by now of old age, lol the unrealistic-ness of it all!) And I'll have Alfred as a firefighter, eh? He'll be a hero then! Ha ha.

Oh another thing, some of you already saw if you poked around my profile, but the all powerful Saloe has started a **doujinshi**. Go check it out (link in profile) and attack her with love, k?

Well, I hope you guys enjoy this! Review please!

_Translations:_

Doitsu (Japanese): Germany

Igirisu (Japanese): England

Je te manques terriblement (French): I miss you terribly

Désolé, j'ai été très occu (French): Sorry, I was very busy

Mon Petite (French): My little

Mon Cher (French): My dear

Mon Ami (French): My friend

_Disclaimer_: I own nothing!


	20. Темный: Dark

Chapter 20: Темные: Dark

Walking through the gates of the Kremlin was a remarkable experience in itself and Matthew was amazed each and every time. Many of the towered entrances into the red square were open and taking in the many people here to see the show, however, rather fittingly, Ivan led them to the main entrance, named the "Spasskaya Tower," as the event was named _Spasskaya_ (savior) _Bashnya_ (tower) after the specific towered gate.

Matthew observed the Kremlin more closely, taking in the deep red of the wall and its gates. The ten story high tower with Italian influenced architecture was beautiful as it stood against the bright blue of the sky. A black and gold lined clock sat within the tower's marquee, keeping time and reminding Matthew of the Big Ben in London. They certainly had their differences though, even with similar architecture and themes; simply Russia's colors made everything different.

Matthew had found England's great buildings were normally dark in color; shades of browns and grays aside from the old elegant churches of the past and the modern glass buildings. Arthur had simply gone through a more gothic looking setting during his young age.

With the red of the Kremlin, the gold and silver lining stones around it, and the many other buildings within red square that offered a rainbow of paints themselves; everything just looked more _alive_.

Strange, seeing as this was the center of corruption in the old Russian leadership.

It was hard to see how much this place could have changed. Now there were tourists from all over the world here. Stands were set up for the spectators and men in uniforms mingled with the guest as everyone looked around. The show didn't start for a while yet and people took the time to socialize and view the little trinkets on sale; food and souvenirs.

The group of countries kind of split up at the door, interested in looking at different things; many of them went to see the bands from their represented nations. Others, like Canada, Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, and the Baltic's stuck together.

America was dragged by the back of his shirt by England over to the US guards. Alfred ranted the entire way about how nothing was fair and Matthew was a big bully and how, as he was the father, either France or England should ground him from all things Canadian (Matthew laughed inside, because really, like France or England held that kind of power). England ignored his protests and France ushered them away, though he did throw a presumably concerned glace Canada's way.

The blond didn't care at the moment, and he reflected on these feelings; usually, no matter how much his family forgot him, he loved spending time with them. It was just… not only was his rage on a shorter fuse lately but, well, over the week he had really enjoyed his time with Ivan, even with his sisters' constantly freaking-out. Canada would call Russia his friend.

Sadly, he didn't think anyone in his family would understand that, nor agree and accept it. A stabbing pain tweaked in his chest as his mind came up with the worst-case scenario: choosing between his family and Ivan. Because Matthew would bet his GDP that America was going to blow everything out of proportion if he found out everything that had been going on the past two weeks; he would definitely give an ultimatum.

He could only hope to avoid that for however long he could. That didn't mean he'd be any less discrete about his actions toward Ivan though. So, when he lightly pulled the large Russian through the crowd, he didn't bother hiding the bright smile and friendly aura, talking animatedly with the man as if they were the best of friends since forever, politics be damned.

Belarus eventually caught up, taking Ivan's other arm and trapping it to her torso. Ukraine laughed and joined the conversation with cheer and excitement and the Baltic's… kind of stayed back, confused and worried about such a drastic change in the people around them.

After all, two weeks ago Ukraine avoided Ivan as much as she could get away with, Belarus wasn't nearly as clingy usual, and Canada… well, until a few moments ago they didn't even know who he_ was_! But Ivan was calm, relaxed and cheerful even- not yelling or shrinking away from Canada or Belarus's touch.

They followed in a daze.

Matthew was immediately interested in the matryoshka nesting dolls collection set up on one of the vendor tables. He let go of Ivan's sleeve and picked up a wooden figurine of a flamboyant decorated man, giggling at the overdone mustache and huge eyes. He couldn't help but pop the doll apart in the middle to see the smaller one inside. This one a woman, painted with a happy smile and a strange, colorful costume.

"It'll take forever to get to the last one," Ivan said from beside him. "There's supposed to be ten of them inside."

"Ten," Matthew repeated, surprised. The doll was only six inches high!

"A huge family with many sons and daughters, all healthy and happy; that was the idea the dolls meant to … encourage."

"The bigger the better, eh?"

"Da, more to serve the royal family…"

Canada's smile turned dry, and he closed the doll, putting it back on the table he retrieved it from. "Were you close to them?"

Ivan paused as if in thought, and Matthew could feel the bubble of awkward surrounding the Russian. "Some of them," Ivan eventually said.

"I always wondered…" If Ivan was close to the family such as the Romanovs; it would have made the Revolution so much harder.

Ivan seemed lost in his thoughts now, and Canada couldn't tell if the topic was of happy or disturbing value. Either way he changed the direction of the conversation, involving the Baltic's as he realized he didn't know them very well.

Lithuania was the easiest to talk to and probably had the most in common with the Canadian. He liked to cook, clean, and relax; reading or going out. However, Lithuania was more meek than Matthew was sometimes; he didn't enjoy sports as much (Martial Arts didn't count, Matthew wanted a Hockey buddy!), didn't have that hidden backbone Matthew covered up so well but still possessed. And he was far more cautious around everyone; seemingly so frightened of offending anyone that he would rather keep his mouth shut or stumble over his sentences. Sure, it was hardly noticeable but Matthew could see the differences the more Matthew studied the man. Which really threw the Canadian off- someone even shyer and yet, was better known than him? Something was wrong there, right?

Estonia was the more silent among them, but Matthew could see the man was smart, a technical guru he had heard. It was difficult to talk to him though, as he would much rather observe than be involved in anything. Matthew figured he was much like Ivan in the fact that he would rather be alone than in a room with people. He had the people skills; he simply lacked motivation to speak to others. However much this personality quirk presented itself, Estonia was still polite in answering his questions and seemed nice enough to his siblings.

Latvia was a whole other matter. Matthew felt like he was consoling a frightened rabbit every second he tried speaking to the smaller nation. The poor boy shook like a leaf, remaining on the edge of the group as if completely terrified of the nations around him and even some of the humans walking by. Canada caught on to the main source; Ivan. For some reason (not really a surprise) Latvia was constantly frightened by every move or sound coming from Russia.

And Russia, Matthew realized with a bit of humor and exasperation, faked obliviousness and purposefully made the situation worse. Saddling up to the quivering nation, a large arm wrapped around the thin shoulders and a childish, slightly demeaning smile lit Ivan's face, "Little Latvia is wishing for Russia to win this competition, da?"

"O-o-of cour-se," The boy stuttered out, tears pricking the corners of his eyes and his shaking intensifying. Estonia and Lithuania looked on with sympathy.

Canada tilted his head. "America's band looks pretty serious though," He said lightly.

The Baltic's looked at him like he was crazy, and Ivan giggled, "You are betting on America?"

Matthew grinned back at him, "You think you can do better than the proposed _super power_?"

"I believe so, da."

Teasing grin still on his lips, Matthew poked him lightly in the bicep, "Prove it."

"Fine."

At an impasse, the two of the largest nations simply turned to the stands where people were gathering around and sitting in their seats, ready for the show.

"Should we go then?"

"Da."

Ukraine jumped ahead, pulling Matthew by the hand, "You'll love it, Matvey!"

They climbed the tiered stands, finding the other nations conveniently grouped together. Ukraine slid in first, smiling at Belgium who had arrived with her brother not long ago. The two girls got along quite well apparently and Katyusha's excitement spread throughout the group, diffusing a bit of the tension brought up when America in the row just below them turned around to glare sinisterly at Russia. His expression changed upon looking to his brother however, "Mattie, you're not really mad at me still are you?"

Matthew pointedly ignored him. Which was answer enough and Alfred turned around with a perturbed frown. Inside, Canada really didn't want to be so cold to his southern neighbor, his brother really had the best intentions he knew. But with all the emotions raging inside of him, and all the stress, he didn't have the patience to handle the egotistic American. He hoped that once everything was over with he'd have the chance to make it up to Alfred.

Ensnared in his own thoughts, he seemed to have zoned out in his seat, which is why he was so surprised that the vision of his dull and dirty tennis shoes that had once been white and clean was suddenly replaced with blackness. A snickering was heard behind him as the hand blocking his vision pulled the blond further to the broad chest of his antagonist.

"Guess who," the voice said near his ear, followed by another unmistakable trademark sniggering that Matthew would have to be stupid not to recognize.

"Gilbert, very funny, let go of me."

"Say the magic word," He insisted.

"Please?"

"Why would you think that was the password? I give no mercy just because you asked nicely!" Another "kesesese" as his laugh, and Matthew would have rolled his eyes if he could.

Ivan's voice was heard next, his tone patronizing, "How childish."

"Oh, yeah, like you have any right to say that, running around like you-"

"H-hey!" Matthew interrupted, ducking out of the Prussian's hold as he was preoccupied with adding fire to the argument Ivan just had to start. "No fighting! This is supposed to be a fun gathering; can't we just stop nit-picking at each other and watch the show?"

He didn't expect nor care about an answer he would receive- he straightened up to look at the stage where the performers would hopefully start soon, arms crossed over his chest and lips pulled into a frown. He deeply wished that the nations could have a simple get-together without arguing, he knew he wasn't a prime example with his earlier (rather one-sided) argument with Alfred, but one could say the American started it.

"Uh… Matt," Prussia started, trying not to look concerned cause that would be 'un-awesome' but at the same time, Matthew's irritability was unexpected and worrying. "You ok?"

"Fine, just… please watch the show in peace." He threw a glance at Russia, "That goes for everyone." Ivan threw him an unhappy 'don't-tell-me-what-to-do' expression right back. "Say something nice, or don't say anything at all."

Prussia didn't exactly like being scolded like a child either, he pouted and said a sarcastic "Yes, mother" under his breath. However, he was confused as well, after all, Matthew had practically grown a backbone since the last two weeks Gilbert hadn't seen the boy. Well, he knew the man _had_ a backbone, just didn't show it often… So what made him so edgy that he had no problem snapping at _Russia_ of all people?

It didn't help that America two rows below him casted a forlorn look his brother's way, was the American seeing this development too?

Gilbert leaned to his left, nudging his brother in the side rather insistently. Germany had to pause in his conversation to Italy to answer the elder man, "What," He asked.

"What's going on with Canada and America?"

"Who?"

Prussia pointed to the blond Canadian with an annoyed growl "Him! What's up?"

"Oh, I don't know, but he yelled at America for some comment about his military, and then stomped off with Russia. Why?" Gilbert paused to think about that, still confused. Germany scowled. "Bruder, don't get involved, it is none of your concern." Ludwig would think his older brother (though he never acted like the elder, not at _all_) could only make the situation worse if he tried to wiggle his way into the action.

Prussia waved his advice off and leaned back in his seat, narrowing his eyes at the Russian in question, blaming him for whatever was happening. After all, the man's involvement was probably not a simple coincidence. He knew from experience that whenever Ivan was around things undoubtedly went wrong. He vowed to find out what happened; Canada was someone Prussia kinda-sorta cared about. He made awesome pancakes for him, allowed him to crash at his place, and he was cute (And Gilbert liked cute things- which was very manly, thank you very much).

_Russia would only taint that_, he told himself. He sat back to observe the way the two nations interacted, oblivious to the way Germany cursed in their shared language, knowing there was trouble up ahead.

For a long while, everyone simply talked among themselves, waiting for the show to begin, and when the announcer echoed across Red Square a hush spread across the audience. He spoke in Russian first, then in English, introducing the many spectators, both native and foreign, to the purpose, the history, and the entertainment everyone was expecting to see.

The festival opened with a display by the Special Guard Company of the Presidential Regiment and the Cavalry Escort of Honor. Mounted officers on beautiful horses, fully uniformed, and presenting an air of professionalism and regal pride. The horses marched in harmony, one rider holding the Russian flag above the others. After the cavalry marched the brass section of the Presidential Orchestra, their music strong and moving.

Besides the brilliant coloring and music, the audience saw expert formations of the units, marching forever in sync, and the brass manipulating their instruments as they spread into position. Canada attempted to loosen up, forget about the tension of foreign relations, and try to have fun. That's what he originally wanted in the first place.

It wasn't too hard, because as the first Nation's band performed their piece, and the crowd started clapping to the beat and cheering them on, Matthew couldn't help but join in. Not only was a band marching and playing a cheerful song, but there were dancers as well, spinning and obviously laughing even from the distance Matthew sat.

France's military honor band had played a popular song that Canada could help but sing along with, "Les Champs Elysées," Francis cheered and even England laughed, saying that his uniforms were probably the brightest among them.

Then came a Band from Ireland, playing bagpipes, wearing kilts ("They're not skirts and they're very manly, you damn frog!") and setting a fast tempo Celtic dance for the crowd.

There were so many bands playing that Matthew could get confused on who was who if it wasn't for the flag displayed above them, created with projections. St. Basil's Cathedral was constantly swirling with colors, playing to the beat of each song perfectly. Every band had its own cultural spin in their performance.

Canada recognized his brother's band immediately, he had seen the black and white uniforms many times before, the flag was unmistakable, and the beat (within the first few notes) had Matthew chuckling. "You didn't…"

Alfred turned back to give him a cheeky grin in response, their slight disagreement forgotten for now, "Hell yeah, I did."

England must have recognized the song as well because he scoffed in disbelief, "You're insufferable!"

For those who didn't understand just yet, they soon joined in as the chorus of "Thriller" sounded from below. The tribute to Michael Jackson was accompanied by dancers, performing the famous moves the "king of pop" created, and America stood up to clap, looking about ready to cry in his overly dramatic way. "That was perfect! I'm so proud."

"Sit down, you wanker."

Canada pulled his brother back down to his seat, laughing at his antics, "You're so predictable, we should have seen this coming."

"Wasn't it great Mattie?" He didn't dignify that with an answer, just laughed.

Ukraine's band put on a good show, with a fun dance even Matthew recognized, as foreign as it was. He complimented her and she gave him a huge hug in gratitude.

Germany, Sweden, Finland, and many others performed, past dusk and into the night. The lights were easily seen and even more entrancing than before as they flashed across the Spasskaya Tower and all other surfaces. Fireworks started to flash in the sky in quick bursts of colors varying in color and affect. Some sparkled and faded slowly, others were separated into different shapes.

As the performances came to an end (others scheduled for the next two days), the nations stood from their seats in a much happier mood than before. They traveled down the aisle out of the stands and onto solid ground, chatting among each other happily.

Prussia caught up with Canada and slung an arm around the man's shoulders. "So, what hotel are you staying at, and what time will you be expecting me?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Canada laughed, shaking his head.

"Aw, come on, once you go with the awesome me, you won't want to be with anyone else, promise."

Matthew continued to giggle, "No thanks, Gil."

Prussia pouted. "But seriously, where ya goin'? West and I can take you there, better than riding with your bro."

"It's fine, I have a ride," He had to go back with Russia, as that was where he was staying, however, he doubted the Prussian would like that answer, and he didn't think the man would keep that fact a secret from his brother either.

Gilbert's pout turned into an actual frown, suspicion in the back of his mind, "Who's taking you then?"

"Um… Russia."

_Thought so_. "Pft, birdie, why-"

"I want to spend time with Katyusha," Matthew said. Maybe if he took the focus off the fact that Russia was around the man wouldn't make that much of a scene.

"Still… well fine, if that's what you want." Gilbert pulled the blond closer, bringing his other hand up to ruffle the slightly wavy hair, much to Matthew's displeasure. 'Kesesese' He heard as the Canadian struggled to get out of the choke hold and fix his hair. Kumajirou jumped to the ground, away from the wrestling to watch his friend yelp in surprise.

"Stop it, Gil!"

"Make me!"

"Prussia," Ivan laid a hand on the albino's shoulder, squeezing unnecessarily hard, stopping the playful wrestling short. "I believe you should find your brother and leave now, Da?"

Prussia glared, his red eyes scalding. "We can leave whenever we damn well please."

Ivan smiled, hand tightening, "I doubt that very much so, East Germany," The stab at the man's official name (or lack thereof) didn't help soothe the Prussian's anger, only made the hatred he held inside more presentable, and the albino's muscles tightened as he turned to face the Russian, as if getting ready for a fight.

Matthew looked back and forth between the two men, worry easily seen on his face, and he glanced around for any other of the visiting nations that could help ease the situation that was quickly turning into a heated nightmare. Belarus was a few steps behind Ivan, watching with a blank face, she didn't seem to care about what could happen, and the way she threw him a glance told the Canadian that she wouldn't help him if he asked her to anyway. Ukraine was probably still with Belgium, and he lost sight of America, France, and England as they came down from the stands.

Continuing his search through the crowd around them, he caught the sight of Italy in the crowd, only because of the man's short stature in the sea of tall Russians, and beside him, Matthew glimpsed a flash of blond hair he knew must have been Germany.

"Ludwig!" Matthew yelled, attempting to get the brother's attention.

It failed. _Shocker_. But the man was walking in their general direction, perhaps he was looking for his brother, and if so, Matthew hoped he would find him… and get him out of the mess the Prussian was in.

"Look, I don't know what your problem is, _Russia_, but get out of my face, and leave Matthew alone."

"Learn your place, _comrade,_ as you're in _my_ country. And I've done nothing to Matvey."

"Bullshit! You're up to something, you always are, you psycho!"

Canada pushed himself in between the two, trying to breathe in the heavy atmosphere and get his thoughts in order to find a way to stop the two from fighting. "H-Hey, stop it, I thought we were here t-to have fun."

"What are you going to do if I was," Ivan asked, (they both seemed to completely ignore Matthew's interference) that wide smile on his face like this was funny. "You don't even have a military."

"Fuck you!"

With one hand on Ivan's chest and the other on Gilbert's, Canada attempted to keep as much space between them as possible. "Enough! This is ridiculous!"

"Move, Matt. Go find my brother; I'm taking you with us. You're not going anywhere with _him_."

"Gil, I'll be fine with Ivan-" Canada tried, but Russia interrupted him.

"Jealous, are we?"

"Not one bit!"

"Then why so angry? You should know better than to insult your betters-"

"I'm not afraid of you," As if he was going to prove his point, he lurched forward, pushing Matthew out of the way and striking out with a punch to the Russian's face.

Canada's resistance to the motion was the only reason the albino's assault didn't hit its mark, he pressed against the two men, trying to keep them from the brawl that was too late to stop. Once Prussia made the move, Russia was all too willing to begin his counter.

Matthew was shoved out of the way, whether it was Russia's doing or Gilbert's he wasn't sure, but he fell to the concrete, turning and scrambling to see the drama unfold as Prussia went back in, one hand snatching the white scarf around the Russian's neck, the other snapping out in a punch to the cheek. Ivan's smile had turned somewhat sinister as he aimed his fist at his opponent's unguarded abdomen.

"Stop," Canada tried, knowing it was useless but hoping one of them would listen. Belarus stood off to the side, watching with fascination. The crowd around them gave the brawlers a wide breadth, many stopped what they were doing to watch, and others attempted to get out and away. Matthew became enclosed in the crowd of spectators, losing sight of the men for a few moments.

He stood, beginning to press forward to the front once more until an arm came across his shoulders, wrapping around his neck and bringing him back into a strong chest. His breath caught in his throat, surprised by the action and annoyed that whoever it was had to put him in a chokehold in order to get his attention. Matthew was betting the aggressor was America, and he tried to turn, struggling over yelling at the fool or asking him to get moving and break up the fight between Russia and Prussia.

A cold, solid jab at the back of his ribcage stopped his actions dead in their tracks. "Do not move," He heard the man whisper- it was not a voice he recognized. "Or I will be forced to shoot you."

…oOo…

Immediately after the show, Germany had laid a heavy hand on his elder brother's shoulder, attempting to keep the man with the group. He had a sense that his other half would get in trouble otherwise. "Bruder," He said. "It's late, why don't we find a respectful restaurant to eat at before heading back to the hotel."

"Nein, that sounds so boring," The man replied (it sounded more of a complaint). He shrugged off the hand. "I'm gonna go mess with birdie."

"No, Gilbert," Before he could say anymore the albino climbed onto the seats of the stands, jumping from one tier to the other, bypassing the many people in the aisle. Germany groaned, "Why do I even bother?"

"Ve, Doitsu," Italy chirped from behind the German. "Gilbert will be fine!"

"I hope. Hn, well, why don't we check out the vendors? They may have something interesting."

Feliciano bounced in place, cheering, and once they stepped off the stands onto solid ground, the Italian pulled him by the arm toward the shops. "We should find brother France first, ve!"

Germany nodded, not exactly paying attention, as he was searching the crowd for his brother still. "Hey Ludwig!"

They paused, turning to see America bounding up to him with a grin on his face, England and France trailing behind him. ("Ve, Francis, we should look at the foods! Maybe they sell pasta!") Ludwig nodded curtly in a greeting as America stopped before him. "Have you seen Mattie? We all seem to have lost each other," Alfred asked, laughing and running his hand through his dark blond hair.

Germany had to think about who this 'Mattie' was for a second. "I do not know, but my bruder went to find him also."

America frowned. "Why?"

The German shrugged, "Apparently this _Matthew_ has been acting strangely."

"Got that right, I bet it's that Commie's fault."

England snuffed, "First of all, Russia is no longer communist, secondly, you _always _say it's his fault, and most of the time, it's not."

America rolled his eyes and Germany was thankful England did not see it, as that attitude would have started a whole new argument. "Gilbert seems to think the same thing… Perhaps we should look for them. I do not want my brother to get in any more trouble."

Italy turned to them, chocolate brown eyes large and pleading, "But Doitsu, we were going to look at the stuff they sell here. Francis says they have a cute stuffed bunny!"

Ludwig turned to him with an apologetic frown. "It will still be here tomorrow, Italy. We can come back for it then."

"Ve," The boys tone was downcast but a slight smile to the German let him know it was acceptable for now. "Okay, Doitsu."

The group started their search, looking for anyone with stark white hair, or a short blond with a bear in his arms, even a tall Russian with a telltale scarf. For a while their hunt turned up unsuccessful until a kind of commotion turned up a while away and Germany tried to look over the crowd to see what was so interesting. "That better not be him," He muttered.

Alfred shook his head, "Matthew wouldn't be in the middle of that."

"I'm afraid Prussia would," France said. "And if Prussia was following petit Mathieu…"

"In any case, the crowd would draw that maniac to it anyway," England put in.

Germany hid his stressed sigh well as he started to push his way through to the center of the action, all the while thinking that his elder brother was eventually going to give him an aneurysm.

…oOo…

Canada couldn't believe this… He didn't understand it. Why was he being held at gunpoint? He had done absolutely nothing. It frightened him (if only because he had no idea what was going on), and annoyed him, as this situation would mean nothing to him if he wasn't in the middle of a crowd full of civilians. He couldn't exactly show any abnormalities by using brute strength, super speed, or "invincibility" by taking a bullet through the chest without much more than a flinch.

A fierce growl was heard to his left, and Matthew could see Kumajirou's crouched form in his peripheral, ready for an attack. "Call him off," The man ordered from behind him, breath brushing against the Canadian's ear. A few seconds passed and the gun at his back pressed harder into his back. "Do it."

"He won't understand," Canada tried.

"I've seen him do your little tricks," The attacker answered. "Send him away. Now."

"Kuma," Matthew said through gritted teeth, not liking the situation at all. "Go get Alfred. You know who that is: Hamburger man. Go get him." The bear growled menacingly, hair standing on end, teeth showing, black eyes as cold as ice, but he slowly took a step in the right direction, and in the next second he took off, running through the crowd at a surprisingly fast speed considering his short legs.

The arm around Matthew's neck squeezed, and he was forcefully turned around and ordered to walk. Having no other choice but to obey for now, he started to march to the Spasskaya tower exit. Nobody seemed to take notice of their strange positions as they strolled passed, and Matthew would guess that the man's proximity looked almost friendly, and with the gun at his back concealed, there was no reason for anyone to think otherwise.

Matthew continued to grit his teeth, as they exited red square and down one of the many sidewalks. _Still too many people,_ He realized, disliking his predicament more with every step they took away from the other Nations he could rely on.

At the end of a small garden, a black escalade slid into view, stopping in front of the sidewalk, and parking. A man in the passenger side jumped out, a black scarf wrapped around his shoulders, high enough to cover his mouth and nose. He stepped back, opened the back door and turned conveniently looked to the approaching Canadian.

Canada cursed, digging his heels into the cement under his feet. "Look, if it's money you want-"

"Get in the car."

"I have about 300 worth in my pocket, take it and we can both forget about this."

The man paused, leaned in close so that he could whisper in the blond's ear. "I said, get in the car."

He pushed Matthew the dozen or so more steps to the escalade, shoving the boy into the back seat and climbing in after him, the gun pressed to his side the entire time. The passenger serving as a doorman shut the door behind them and then returned to his seat. The driver, Matthew noticed, didn't bother to cover his face. These windows were well tinted though; he wasn't planning on being seen.

Turning to finally get a look at his kidnapper, he witnessed the man pulling off a similar long black, knitted scarf as well as a hat that concealed his dark brown hair. He threw it to the floorboard and spoke something in Russian to the other men.

His brown eyes glinted as he looked Matthew over and Canada sent back a glare. "Why have you taken me?"

"No questions," He answered curtly.

"No," The only blond in the car replied, his voice cold. "You will answer me. I have put up with this harassment long enough. Why did you kidnap me, and where are we going?"

The gun at his side shifted, pulling away only for a second before whipping around to connect with the Canadian's temple. Matthew shrank back, wincing at the blow if only because it was in a sensitive place. The moment the sting passed a bubbling rage built up in his chest. _How dare he… _

The cold metal barrel of the gun pressed to his cheek. "I said no questions."

Matthew looked directly in this _filthy_ man's eyes with such malice that it made him pause. The man's confidence faltered a bit and Canada pressed on, enjoying the unease the three men in the car tried to hide as the temperature dropped several degrees. "Do that again, and you won't be able to breathe properly for the rest of your short life."

The moving car was just about out of the parking lot and on the road. The driver turned up the heating unit on the dashboard, looking back at them through the rearview mirror nervously. He muttered something Matthew couldn't understand but the man in the passenger seat snapped at him immediately after, "Не говори этого! Он  
может говорить по-русски."

"Босс сказал, что он этого не делал," the driver replied.

"Тем не менее, не рискуйтеь."

They traveled in silence after that. Matthew wondered if Russia and Prussia stopped fighting yet, and if anyone realized he was missing… He dearly hoped someone did, not just because he could use the help but if someone could remember him long enough to notice he was not there, and worry about him, then that meant they at least cared.

They traveled about a mile down the road, stopped at a red light, turned right, and picked up speed. _Who would notice first? Prussia, Russia? _By the way the buildings passed by outside the window Matthew could guess they were going at least 40 miles an hour.

_What about Kumajirou, did he find America alright? _He would hate it if his friend got lost in the crowd. And with his memory, with enough time the bear would forget what he was supposed to do… What if they left him behind? He wouldn't know where to go, and people would freak out if a baby polar bear was seen strolling down downtown Moscow.

The vehicle was up to 60 miles an hour as they traveled out of the busy roads and into the more suburb-kind of area. More trees lined the side of the road and fewer pedestrians walked the streets. He sneaked a glance at the man holding the barrel of a makarov at his head; he was glaring pointedly at a spot on the driver's seat.

He had let his guard down slightly. Matthew knew if there was a time to act, it was now.

The Canadian quickly brought his left hand up to catch the outstretched wrist and push it away from him so that the gun aimed at the roof of the car, his other arm pulled back to snap out a punch. His knuckles met the soft flesh of the man's cheek, and his strength (aided by his abnormal condition of being inhuman) threw him back. The surprise attack, combined with the man's jumpiness caused the gun to fire a shot into the roof as the back of his head hit the window hard enough for it to crack.

A spider web of jagged lines appearing in the tinted window as well as a hint of red at the center could be seen as the Russian slid down, unconscious. _Serves you right for that pistol whip, bastard._

The escalade swerved sharply as the driver yelped, looking back at the Canadian in the back seat as the blond easily took the gun from the limp hands of his kidnapper. However, the passenger in the front did not hesitate or show fear as he turned in his seat as fast as he could, another gun in his hands.

Matthew didn't give him the chance to use it. With a squeeze of the trigger he fired a bullet into the man's shoulder. He gave out a curse, yelling in Russian.

Canada aimed the gun at the driver next, about to order the man to pull over, he was too slow however. The man was already on the shoulder of the road, the jerk of the steering wheel brought them to the side, but he was still going sixty, and the shoulder of the road was not as clear of ice as the highway. The special salt and chemical combination that kept the streets safe from black ice was not present here and as the front right tire crossed a patch of it, the vehicle's fate was sealed.

The driver yelled something, pulling the wheel suddenly to the left and if the man survived this, Matthew would promise to give him a special reward for making everything worse. One would think, with the kind of experience the Northern nations had with snow, that their civilians would recognize the possibilities of this happening. Canada knew the rules about driving, had it drilled into him so many times he believed that it was common sense. In a situation where one loses control over a vehicle, you were meant to gently hit the break, keep the steering wheel straight, and wait for the vehicle to stop sliding. _Stomping_ on the brake, and _jerking_ the wheel, would do only one thing; flip the car.

Canada's eyes widened and he yelped in shock as the car turned, skidding on the ice until the front of the car was perpendicular to the direction they were going in. And then they hit something solid, the force knocking everyone out of their seats as the two wheels on the left side lifted from the ground.

Matthew shut his eyes, letting out an instinctive scream as the escalade flipped; he was just able to bring his arms up and close to his face as the side of the car met the ground. He heard glass shattering, the sounds of the two men in front screaming as well. The car continued to roll, the roof smashing and screeching against the concrete. Everyone was lifted with the force of gravity, as none of them wore seatbelts.

Flung around the back seat of the car as the vehicle flipped back and forth, he didn't know how many times, Canada could do nothing but cover his face as much as he could as glass embedded itself in his arms, legs, torso- metal twisted around him, the car door crushed against his side.

When the escalade stopped, it was upside down. Matthew sprawled on top of the roof, crushed underneath the man he had punched earlier. Compared to a few seconds ago, everything was suddenly so silent; no more screaming or crashing. The only sound came from his rough breathing, and the sound of glass tinkling as he tried to move his arms and legs.

Everything hurt, and he could feel liquid heat along the side of his face, it hurt to breathe and every movement sent flashes of white light across his vision.

_These were nothing,_ He told himself, and forced his body to obey his commands. Lifting himself on his hands and knees, he pushed the unconscious (or dead) Russian off of him, looking around blearily. The interior of the car looked nothing like it had before, dark leather seats were torn, the dashboard crushed. The headlights were still on, shining brightly against a wall of trees in front of them, making it easier for Matthew to see.

He groaned, crawling to the door and trying to push it open. He had to muster up a lot of strength to tear the twisted metal off and get it to do what it was meant to. It protested the entire way but he succeeded. Glass dug into the palms of his hands and through the jeans of his knees. He winced with every move but it was by far not the worst injury he acquired. He was pretty sure he had a cracked skull, among a few broken ribs perhaps. He had lost his hold on the makarov during the crash but he was pretty sure he didn't need it anymore. All was silent in the vehicle behind him.

Standing on shaky legs, he whimpered as his vision swam, the ground seeming to bend and quake under his feet. He took a step, trying to keep focus, nausea brought him to a stop though and he concentrated on breathing.

He swallowed what tasted like blood, reaching into his hoodie pocket to retrieve his cell phone. The screen was so bright he had to blink a few times, squinting at it to make out what it said. Pushing the menu button with his thumb, he ignored the streak of red left on the display as he clicked the 'contacts' icon, scrolling through the people until he found Ivan's name.

A loud _bang_ echoed in the night and Canada gasped, the red flip phone slipping out of his hand and clattering to the gravel. All he could hear was a ringing in his head, all he could see was white, and all he could feel was pain. His legs no longer had the strength to hold him up, and he tipped, the ground coming up to meet his fall.

Short breaths were hard to come by and the mist one could see in the cold air from his exhales thinned to worrying degrees. The crunch of gravel underfoot could be heard like a distant echo in his mind. A strong arm took hold of his shoulder, pulling him to his back and his oxygen was cut off as even more pain spread through his torso. Broken ribs grinding together made him choke and his head was in a constant state of pain unlike he had ever felt before.

He tried to open his eyes, barely making out the dark figure leaning over him. It moved, taking out its own phone and clicking through it, holding it up to his ear a second later. "Mr. Mihailov, sir… Yes, we have him, as you requested, but… No, sir, you see, he tried to make a break for it in the car. We crashed sir… Yes. He won't be causing any more problems, I assure you."

Matthew coughed as blood welled up in this throat and he choked on it, his blurred vision darkening around the edges. He only had to wonder what was going to happen to him before the darkness consumed him.

…Thank You…

Here is Chapter Twenty! Took long enough, eh? But these few months have changed… so much- some for the better, others for the worse. I'm fine though, and Christmas is here, my favorite time of the year! School is out for the moment so I had time to write too! It makes me happy, to update this story. I never meant to let it go so neglected. I'm not giving up on it though! And for those of you who are still with me, you should expect my regular updating to pick up again. Those of you who are knew, welcome on board!

Thank you so much those of you who have reviewed, I got so, so many comments that made me tear up with their kindness. I'm deeply sorry I did not reply to everyone but know that I read every single one of them (more than once when I lack inspiration).

Merry Christmas Everyone! You rock!

By the way, this chapter was not reviewed by a beta, I wanted to get it out for Christmas, and I will replace it with a corrected chapter later. Sorry for the mistakes!

_Translation:_

Не говори этого! Он может говорить по-русски. (Russian): Don't say that! He may speak Russian

Босс сказал, что он этого не делал (Russian): The Boss said he didn't

Тем не менее, не рискуйте (Russian): Still, do not take risks

_Disclaimer:_ For Christmas, I want the rights to own Hetalia… Or a million dollars, whichever scenario bends to my will first.


	21. Dix: Ten

**PART II**

Chapter 21: Countdown: Dix

Russia could have laughed in glee if he wasn't preoccupied with smashing his fist into an annoying albino's face. As a man who loved to fight, he had always favored a challenge. Gilbert was no wimp- that much he would admit, despite no longer being an official nation, the man still had abnormal strength and speed. The knowledge that one hit from Ivan could potentially knock him out cold definitely helped; the Prussian was more adapted to dodging his fists than charging head forth, assuming he could take all the damage thrown at him.

Looking back on it, Prussia's strategy didn't reflect the man's personality (egotistic, headstrong, favoring brawns rather than brains) but thinking in a broad perspective, Prussia was old, with as much battle experience as Russia. It made things so much more interesting.

If they didn't hate each other so much they might have found this extremely enjoyable.

Part of Ivan was disappointed to be pulled off the Prussian by an angry American as Germany assisted his brother in getting off the ground.

"_I told you not to get involved_," Ludwig growled in German. "_What have you gotten yourself into_?"

"_It's his fault!"_

Russia smiled, the blood welling from his busted lip making the expression even more insane looking, "You were the first to throw insults, comrade."

"If you had just backed off when I told you to-"

England on the sidelines interrupted. "Look, no matter who started what, I say we should take this somewhere else and talk about it like gentleman."

"Yep, I agree with Iggy," America chirped, his arms still locked around Russia's underarms, keeping him back. He was probably one of the few who could do such a thing, and he loved rubbing his "superiority" in the Russian's face. "Let's go, big guy."

Germany, a strong hand at the nape of his brother's neck, pushed him forward like the Prussian was being sent to his room. He made sure to vocalize how he thought of that.

France, England, Italy, and Belarus followed behind, the latter two the only ones not snickering at the situation.

The group got to the gate of the Kremlin and into the garden. America finally let go of Ivan, pointedly ignoring the glare directed at him from then on. "So," England started. "What happened?"

Prussia jumped in, "That bastard threatened me!"

"I did no such thing."

"Liar!" Germany sighed, rubbing his temples.

England rolled his eyes, "Okay, children, just tell me what started this."

"Matt," Prussia stated, as if it was obvious.

"Who," Germany asked on the behalf of everyone.

Russia let out what was presumed as a sigh. "Matvey is fine."

"You did something to him, why else would he _willing_ stay here with _you_?"

America held up his hand as if to put a pause in the argument, "Are we talking about _Mattie_? My Mattie?"

Ivan glared at him again, "Yes, Canada, and not yours."

Prussia had sent him a reproachful look for that comment as well and Germany seemed to be the only one to catch the similar reactions. "Sheesh, you're his brother, remember him for one damn second, will ya?"

"Hey! I remember him," the American protested.

England cursed, "Can we just get back to the problem at hand?"

…oOo…

"This is cute," Ukraine mused, picking up a small, hand carved eagle perched on a branch of a tree. The creator sure was skilled to have added so much detail. "Belgium, look," She held it up for the other woman to see.

"Oh, very pretty," She gasped. "They have a lion too!" Picking the intricate figure up to look it over, she smiled. "This would be a great gift for Lars."

Katyusha agreed, "Maybe I should get this one for Ivan. He like these, used to carve things when he was little too."

"I would never have guessed that. Big bad Ivan, carving?"

The two giggled at the image, but Ukraine smiled softly afterwards. "Yes, he was very different back then. I wish I had my little Ivan back; you know he would sooner run stark naked through the snow than bathe?"

Belgium let out a loud laugh, "He what?"

"I had to chase him down," Katyusha confirmed.

Belgium shook her head, "Baby stories of Ivan, ha. But then again, Lars used to be the same way." She sighed in remorse. "Netherlands may be my elder brother, but I was the one to take care of him rather than the other way around. Lately it seems he really doesn't need my help anymore."

"Yes," Ukraine paid for the woodcarving, carefully setting it in the satchel she brought with her. "They're not so little anymore, I truly miss the times where Ivan would talk to me, would listen to _my_ advice."

"Well, not everything that had changed was for the worse. Lars has grown into a fine nation; Ivan has too. They both had bumps along the way but…" She paid for her own gift, walking away from the booth, looking at it in remembrance. "Experience has helped them. They learn from their mistakes, just like we have."

Ukraine smiled contently, happy to have confided in someone who could say they understood her pain. She enjoyed the other woman's company; she was charming, gentle-mannered, and cheerful. Beautiful as well, however, she liked to hide behind baggy, tomboyish clothes.

Katyusha opened her mouth to ask if she would like to go shopping with her sometime when something rather forceful knocked into her legs, she tipped with a squeak of surprise and barely caught herself from dropping to the concrete below. Belgium let out a yelp as the thing ran into her next, and latched onto Ukraine's arm. "What _is_ that?"

Looking around for the source that almost bowled her over, her eyes caught a fluff of white. "Kumajirou…" She whispered. The animal was on all fours, wondering anxiously around people, muzzle to the concrete as if tracking something. Katyusha started to follow him. "Kumajirou, what are you doing?"

"Looking," The bear mumbled, not once lifting his nose form the ground.

"For what, are you lost," She asked sweetly.

"No," He finally turned to her, and Katyusha noticed the animal's… distress. Something wasn't right with the bear, and Katyusha was instantly worried. "Need help. Find Hamburger."

The words confused her though, the bear was smart, but he tended to speak in fragments, and he couldn't remember certain names or objects. Mostly the animal spoke when he was tired or hungry, so those types of words he knew well. "Hamburger," She repeated. "Hm, let's go find Matvey, ok?" He would understand what Kumajirou was saying.

She bent down to pick the polar bear up, he maneuvered out of her capture however, his expression (or what a bear could express) looking even more tormented. "Not here! Needs help! Find hamburger!"

"Okay, it's okay, we'll fine a… hamburger." Ukraine didn't like the wild look in the animal's eyes, something was causing the polar bear to panic, and a panicked animal was not good, especially in a crowded place such as this.

"Not a hamburger!"

Belgium, standing behind Ukraine, who had stooped to a crouch in order to get the polar bear to come to her, spoke up. "You don't want a hamburger? But you just said…"

"Hamburger man!"

The girls looked quizzically at each other. "Hamburger man?"

"… Does he mean America?"

"It's a fairly accurate description, sad to say."

Kumajirou crossed the distance to Ukraine's hand, touching the outstretched hand. "Hamburger man."

Katyusha smiled soothingly, picking the bear up carefully. "Okay, you want to find America, that's what we will do." She turned around, taking out her phone as she walked. America's number was among the first in her contact list, alphabetical order had its rewards.

…oOo…

"_Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light; What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming._" Everyone turned to Alfred, recognizing the National Anthem of his country, watching him with varying degrees of blankness as he searched his pockets for his phone.

"How original," England huffed. "And outstandingly egotistical and annoying."

America threw him the finger before answering his phone with a "Yo, Alf-dawg here, whatcha need?"

There was a pause, Alfred's brow furrowing a bit, "Wait, Ukraine? Is that you?"

Russia turned to the blond with skepticism. Prussia snickered. "Dude, why would your sister be calling him? They got something going on?"

"Нет," Ivan growled. "I would have known."

The Prussian laughed, "America sure knows how to pick 'em."

Russia turned on him, eyes narrowed, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Instead of answering with words, his hands came up to his chest, making a lewd gesture of groping two large objects. Germany jumped between the nations to keep another fight from breaking out, scolding his brother in harsh German as he did so. America stepped forward to assist, all the while talking politely to Ukraine on the other line.

"Yeah, we're all outside the gate, your brother's causing trouble, girl. Come set him straight, will ya? … Cool, see you soon. Yeah, I'll wait."

Ivan stopped in his attempt to break Prussia's face to ask what his sister wanted with the American. The blond actually put on a semi-serious face in reply, "She seemed kind of worried, said she needed to talk to me for somethin'."

Everyone present frowned. "Then we wait for her, I suppose."

"Da."

They didn't have to wait long before they saw Katyusha, holding an anxious looking polar bear in her arms, followed by Belgium.

Kumajirou recognized America as the 'Hamburger man' and immediately wiggled out of Ukraine's arms, dashing up to Alfred and pawing at his leg insistently. "You. He said you could help. He's gone, can't find him. You help."

America looked down at him like he couldn't understand. "Um…" He looked to the others. "Anybody else notice that bear talking?"

Russia rolled his eyes in a rare show of frustration. "Da, that is your brother's bear, Kumajirou."

"Oh… well, run along then," The American said, shaking his leg to get the animal away. "Go find your master."

The bear had a moment of confusion, looking up at the person who he was told to find, the person that was supposed to help. _Why was nobody helping him?_ He was just a bear, he couldn't do it by himself, and he didn't know how to help his friend. His friend was counting on him to get help!

"Find him."

"Sorry, buddy, I don't have time to find whats-his-name."

Germany, ever the one to stay on subject, looked to Ukraine and asked in a respectful tone if he could assist her. "America had said you were concerned about something? Perhaps I can help."

"Well, it's just; I figured Canada would be here. Kumajirou was acting strange…" She trailed off, blushing a bit; she didn't mean to cause anyone alarm, especially if it turned out to be nothing serious. "I suppose it's nothing. Thank you though, Germany."

"Ja, any time miss."

Kumajirou was nudged away from America, much like an annoyance, and the bear didn't like it one bit. He looked back and forth between everyone present, seeing how _useless_ they were being. Nobody understood, or cared- he was a _bear_, so that meant nothing he had to say was _important_ enough…

Confusion fell into desperation, and then anger as he looked up at America. How dare this person refuse to help him? He'd regret it, they all would. Nobody could just ignore him; his friend didn't mind most of the time when other's didn't take him seriously- but Kumajirou would not stand for it. It was not often he spoke out, but when he did, people better listen to him- or they'd be seeing how a _real_ polar bear acts- straight from the wild arctic.

A deep growl started in his chest, muzzle lifting enough to show his sharp teeth, black eyes glaring at the American who had so carelessly ignored his plea. The ones who did notice these changes in the animal were too shocked to do anything in the split second it took the bear to latch his teeth into the American's leg.

Alfred let out a shriek, turning and jerking his leg back and forth, trying to get the animal off him. Kumajirou refused to let go, twisting his head and tearing the flesh within his jaws, even as the American fell to the ground, using his free leg to kick him; he still held on with determination, slightly enjoying the panicked voices around him. They were getting what was coming for them; and if they didn't help him after this, then he'd be sure to give them a snap too.

Eventually the others joined in trying to get the animal off Alfred. Russia got there first, grabbing the jaws of the animal, and forcefully lifting them open, using his abnormal strength. It removed the animal's hold on the American, but the bear's anger was still present, and he struggled within Ivan's grip. Blood stained the white fur, making him look more menacing then the others had ever seen him, teeth bared, growl still rumbling through his chest.

"Damn that fuckin' _hurt_!"

England ripped off fabric from America's ruined pants and started to cover the wound and stop the bleeding. "You're fine, stop whining."

"Did you see that?"

"We all did, Alfred."

"It hurt! What the hell was its problem? I did absolutely nothing!"

Russia would have rolled his eyes again, had his concentration not been on the bear's jaws snapping at his hands, struggled to be free and still glaring at the American like he wanted another go at him. "Hey," He spoke to the animal, voice stern. "Easy. You did well, that's enough."

"Bad," It replied, the voice guttural and more animal-like, less of a human quality to it. "His fault. Let go, I will get him."

"I can't do that," Ivan answered. The bear's anger grew. Claws dug into Russia's arms, through the thick jacket, moments later the fabric was slowly seeping with blood. The back legs struck at his chest, attempting to push away from the Russian, frustrated that the man's hold on the patch of fur behind his neck did not let up in the least.

"What were you trying to do?" The Russian lifted a brow in question, his practice in ignoring pain serving him very well. Not that he didn't enjoy seeing America get attacked by a bear, but he did know that Kumajirou was acting quite strange, despite being a wild animal, he was a well mannered and gentle, somewhat lazy bear. The only time he had seen the animal lash out was in the hotel room after hurting Matvey; above all, Kumajirou had the best intentions of the Canadian in mind. He had never seen the animal like this; it concerned him, though he did not show it.

"Get help."

Ivan paused, trying to understand. "Help for what?"

"Him."

"Him… You mean Canada?"

"Yes," The bear finally broke his glare from the American and the crowd around him to look at the Russian. Seeing as his attempts to get free were failing him, he tried to talk sense into these stupid nations once more. "Gone," He said, as if it was obvious and the Russian was holding him back. "Said get hamburger man, but Hamburger man did not help. Nobody help. _Need_ help."

Ivan tried to understand, the bear was usually more articulate than this; but thanks to the time spent with him, he was starting to get the message, and he didn't like what it meant. "Canada… gone?" _Couldn't be, he was with us when I was fighting Prussia._ He looked around, wondering if he had shortly overlooked the boy; it was much easier to be guilty of that with other nations around. Germany, Italy, America, England, France, Prussia, his sisters, Belgium…

His eyes widened a bit when he noticed that indeed, the Canadian was nowhere around. _Since when and how long had it been?_ He looked down to the bear who had begun to settle in his arms, watching the man with cold black eyes as he began to understand. "What happened to him? Where did he go?"

"Man took him. Had a gun."

A look of surprise and concern crossed his face, the word _gun_ standing out, and then his expressions closed into a stony, indifferent look. He was far from uncaring however, and his grip on the bear tightened imperceptibly, "Can you track him?"

"Little. Too many scents."

"We will try." He placed the animal back on the ground, watching as the bear immediately started to sniff the ground around him.

"Russia," America shrieked again. "Why did you let him go? He's gonna attack me again!"

"Shut up, Amerika," Ivan replied, his accent thickening, he followed the animal away from the group, his aura intimidating.

"What's his problem," Alfred mumbled grumpily.

Germany was the only one concerned enough to figure that out, sighing as he stood from assessing American's wound. Everyone seemed to be acting so strange today; he couldn't say he liked it at all.

Catching up to Russia, the German spoke quietly. "Is there something I am not being informed of? I know my brother can be careless, but he did not simply attack you for no reason, Russia. Now this bear has assaulted America. Apparently, whatever is going on, this," He stumbled, trying to remember the name. "_Mat_- _Matvey_, whatever he is called, is at the center of it. I would like to speak to him."

"Da, so would I," Ivan answered, voice stern. "Seems like we'll have to find him first."

"Ah, well then…" He paused. "Do you know where he is?"

"Missing," He informed. "The bear said he was taken." He nodded to the animal in front of them, leading them down a sidewalk with his nose to the concrete.

Germany would have laughed had he not prided himself on being a professional. "I hardly believe the boy has been kidnapped, do you? No offense to you my friend, but… You're listening to a _bear_. Who has just attacked America, of all people."

Ivan paused in his step. "Germany, perhaps you should tell everyone to go home now. I know Canada, and I know his bear, they have been staying with me for the past week. If Kumajirou is telling the truth then the disappearance of a nation's representative in _my_ homeland can be very troubling for our future relationship. I will not say anything for sure about Matvey's whereabouts, but I will leave the option open. For now… Say nothing to the others, they would not be good help anyways, da?"

With that, a large hand came up to pat the German on the shoulder in a goodbye of sorts before tucking his hands in his coat pockets, showing the bloodied front and sides of his attire. Briskly catching up to the bear, Russia didn't bother to turn back as Germany gave a hesitant "very well," before returning to the group.

As Russia followed the white animal, he took his cell phone out of his pants pocket, finding the Canadian in his list (he actually didn't remember how it got there seeing as, before their sudden friendship, he knew nothing about the boy) and calling the number provided.

Holding it to his ear, and keeping Kumajirou in sight, he waited as it rang, watching his breath in the stale night air as he walked through the quiet garden, decorative street light lanterns showing him the path.

"_Bonjour, this is Matthew Williams, Very sorry I can't answer your call at the moment, but I assure you, if you leave a message I'll get right back to you, promise. Thank you!"_

The blond's phone was of, he knew the boy had it on his person though, was it simply out of battery life? "Matvey, call me back, your bear is concerned for your safety, da~"

After his short message, he hung up and returned his phone to its place, sighing at the absurdity of it all. He was torn between thinking this was a hoax and walking away, and on the verge of thinking it serious enough to start ringing the alarms. All the events were too out of character to be false. Kumajirou was truly freaking out, Canada was truly nowhere to be found- and he knew the Canadian wouldn't simply leave his animal behind, no matter where he went.

However, none of the scenarios his imagination supplied him with could really explain the Canadian's actions either. What could be dire enough for the blond to leave Kumajirou behind in his state? What could the bear have possibly seen to have such a reaction?

"Ends here," Said bear spoke up, bringing the Russian out of his thoughts.

Ivan frowned, standing at the curb of the parking lot. "Are you sure?"

The bear looked up at him, black eyes showing no doubt. Ivan looked around, watching a few cars drive past. Many of the civilians had gone home already, so the traffic had died down enough for them to casually walk into the street, stopping somewhat in the middle where a couple of tire tracks could be seen. Russia couldn't find any helpful clues about the marks, but at least he knew that wherever Matthew was, he wasn't on foot.

"Now what?"

Ivan glanced at the bear, sitting on the hard ground, looking up at him for an answer. It seemed like the bear didn't understand the fact that, just because they came to the end of the trail, didn't mean they were any closer to finding his friend. These tracks could have been from a taxi for all Ivan knew- it still didn't prove the Canadian was kidnapped.

Once again, he wondered; was this a ruse, or was it something he should honestly worry about?

"_Not everyone hates you… I don't."_

Canada's face came to mind, along with his soft-spoken voice; and whatever his mind told him (that this was a ridiculous waste of time), he couldn't bring himself to follow its advice. A big part of him, an instinct, felt that this was real, and it was bad. Besides, he owed it to Matthew to at least find out what had happened.

Determination could be seen in the dark violet eyes as Russia looked up, hands tightening into fists. "I'm going to make some calls," He assured the animal. "We'll find him." After all, he wouldn't know what to do if Matthew got hurt while in his country, not as _his_ guest.

…oOo…

Everything hurt, that was the one thing Matthew knew for sure, the only thing he could understand about his situation. He could feel himself being moved, arms lifting him up, and he gasped as his ribs protested. Every step taken jarred his body in a way that caused Matthew to grit his teeth to keep from whimpering: he may have been on the edge of consciousness, but he knew that he was not in friendly company. As such, he refused to show them his pain.

They stumbled through a door, traveled down a staircase, more doors in which the man holding him seemed to have purposely knocked Matthew around a bit. Then he was dropped unceremoniously on a bed. He tried to regain the act of breathing as his arms were pulled apart, away from the defensive position at the chest.

A hand lifted his red hoodie, along with the shirt underneath, and roughly jerked it over his head. "Ah! W-what are you… doing," He asked, voice hoarse and in nothing much higher than a whisper.

The only voices he heard were in Russian, and they gave him no answers. His shoes and socks were taken off, and he weakly struggled against them, mind foggy and unfocused. Then the hands went for his jeans, and the moment they touched the button, Matthew's mind clicked. He couldn't see, his ears still had a ring to them, and his body screamed at him, but he was coherent enough to know that these people wouldn't get away with this, not without some fatalities.

His foot came up and struck, a front kick with as much strength as Matthew dared; it wasn't much in his state, but the man was thrown back, smashing into a wall with a loud bang. Canada couldn't see the damage, but the voices around him seemed to panic. Matthew would have smirked, but he knew he was far from getting out of this mess. Hands snatched at his arms and legs, attempting to hold the Canadian still.

Another kick, it missed, but Matthew was awake now, ignoring the way his vision still blurred, he focused on the men around him, aiming his blows and knocking at least one of them out cold with an elbow to the face.

One of the men leaped on the bed, coming down on him with a speed Matthew should have been able to dodge. A strike to the side of his temple cause a short cry of pain to pass his lips, that black around his vision came back, creeping around the edges.

His attacker was not done yet; leaning over the now still Canadian, one arm was placed on the center of his chest, and then… the entire human's weight pushed against his diaphragm, and Matthew opened his mouth in a silent scream. Oxygen was forced from his injured lungs, and he could definitely feel now; the ribs were broken. With the weight of the human on top of him, the broken bone grated against his lung. It must have been pierced, because his breathing went ragged, and little by little, he started to drown in his own blood.

The pants were touched again, he let them come undone, felt them being pulled off, his last piece of clothing, his black and white boxers, were taken as well.

He lay there naked, only able to gasp as the man's weight was finally lifted. He coughed, blood welling in his mouth; he turned his head to the side, spitting it out so he didn't choke on it. His heavy breathing sounded wet, his body shook weakly, but he was still able to open his eyes and see through the blurriness, to glare at these men with hate. "Vous êtes mort! C'est tout s-simplement que vous ne le savez pas enc-core."

A sting at the back of his neck caught his attention, and he turned sharply to see another man. He recognized this one; it was the passenger of the escalade he was kidnapped in. Brown eyes glinted with a smirk, and he leaned down to whisper condescendingly. "Goodnight, little one. Soon it will be all over."

The man watched him as the violet eyes rolled and all movement from the boy on the bed came to a stop. Only when he was sure the drug he administered had taken affect, he took one of the pale wrists, bring it closer to the headboard of the bed, using a pair of handcuffs to connect the limb to a bar at the side. "_Get his feet,_" He ordered the others.

They hesitantly moved to do as said, pulling the boy's limbs to the end of the mattress, using two long pieces of rope to tie them securely to the posts. The other wrist cuffed as well, everyone made sure their restraints would hold, as the security of their prisoner was highly important.

The door to the room opened and a rather noble looking man strolled in, chocolate brown hair combed back, black suit pressed and fitted perfectly around his athletic form. He held a lit cigar in his hand, bright hazel eyes assessing the situation in front of him with cold indifference.

He made a disappointed hum, stepping closer to the form on the bed. "_You made such a mess of him. Look at all this blood; that will not do, get a maid in here to clean him up._" Someone at the door stuttered a "yes sir" before running to do as asked.

A well-kept hand lifted, touching the boy's cheek softly. "_I wish to see those eyes of yours,"_ He whispered. _"Perhaps when you have settled down, though."_ He glanced at the man on the other side of the bed, the one who was in charge of the kidnapping. _"Alek, you look like shit, you gave him the drug?"_

"Yes sir."

"_Set up an IV, I want a constant stream of Vecuronium, in his system at all times. Mess up the dose, and I'll make sure you regret living,"_ He ordered, glaring at the end for effect. The man nodded and got to work, finding the boys vein easily and setting up a bag of the prepared drug, enabling it to drip periodically into the boy's system. _"Did he have a phone on him?_"

"_Yes, he tried to call someone, but I stopped it."_ The man now known as Alek replied, fetching the red flip phone from his pocket, handing it to his boss.

"_Good, now get out, get presentable, and be ready should I call on you again._"

"_Yes sir,_" Alek gave a curt nod, used to his boss's attitude. Despite the threats and unveiled indifference to his well-being, Alek knew he was important to the man; as his right-hand man, he was one of Mr. Mihailov favorites- and he received a great paycheck too; with so many digits, Alek decided he could certainly ignore the boss's irritable and cruel nature.

Everyone in the room left on his orders and the well-dressed man took a puff of his cigar, opening the cell phone with his free hand and turning it on.

_1 Unheard Voicemail!_

He couldn't help but chuckle, seeing whom the missed call was from. _"You're already missed, good. I wonder how worried he is so far."_ Hazel eyes glanced at the boy asleep on the bed, as if he was listening. _"Should we listen in? Yes, it would be rude not to."_

Clicking the Speaker button, he held it up, taking another breath through the flavored cigar. _"Matvey, call me back, your bear is concerned for your safety, da~"_ The machine replayed.

Mihailov gave another laugh, enjoying the curt, rushed reply; it showed an emotion other than apathy on Ivan. His plan was going well so far- not much more than an hour had passed and the results were already so gratifying.

"_It would also be rude not to reply, yes?_" That glint in his eyes would have put anyone on edge had they been in the room. He found the camera feature, setting it up, and aiming the lens on the back of the phone with the man splayed out on the bed. A loud shutter sounded and the man hummed, _"Fair quality._"

Next, he looked through the contacts, lifting a brow at just how many people the boy knew; people with strange names; _Kiku, Gupta, Sadiq, Tino, Berwald…_ He wondered what the boy did for a living. He passed by many of those foreign names, stopping on the one he was looking for and letting a cruel smile show on his face. _Ivan Braginski_… He clicked it, attached the photo he had just taken; the beaten, bloody, naked boy on the mattress, and sent it.

His duty done, and just in time for the house cleaner to walk in, he smiled happily, turning off the phone and pocketing it. _"Make sure he looks presentable."_ He leaned closer, whispering in her ear as if he had to hide a secret. _"Put him in something special."_

The old woman nodded mutely, knowing better than to speak; she wouldn't have survived working for this man for so long without knowing her place. With that, the man whistled happily as he trailed out the door, the spicy smell of his cigar the only thing left of him.

…oOo…

"Brother, where are you," It was the first thing Ivan heard Katyusha say when he answered the call from his cell phone. He was currently driving through town, deciding to go to the local areas first. Stores, hangouts, anything that was open at that hour, Russia peeked into, looking around before noticing a lack of a Canadian, and trying another shop. With each empty building, he grew more frustrated.

"Do not worry about that, I am fine. You got home safely, da?"

"Y-yes, we took a taxi, but why-"

"Is Matvey there," Perhaps the boy simply went back to the house for some reason.

"Um, no, he isn't. I thought he was with you…"

Russia hummed. "It is late, sleep sister. I will be back in the morning."

"Ok," She said softly, in that concerned tone that let Ivan know she wouldn't be going to sleep like suggested. Like the kindhearted elder sister she was she'd probably wait for him.

"Katyusha," He said seriously, stopping at a red light and leaning back in his seat. "I'm not… out, as in, you know-" _Fighting_, he wanted to say, as he knew that was her fear. Matthew had told him how she had cried the last time; he didn't want her to worry. "I'm just out for a walk. Matvey said it was good to walk, do you agree sister?"

"Yes."

"Do you like to walk around your streets? To see the people…"

"Oh, yes, very much, I like to see them happy."

"Good." He smiled a bit, unafraid to show how content he was with talking to his sister; he was alone in the car (well, except for Kumajirou who was looking out the passenger window blankly). Talking to Katyusha like this was something he was coming to greatly appreciate, seeing as he couldn't do such a thing before. "I'll be back in the morning. Do not worry."

This time, she sounded confident in her reply, "Ok, Ivan. Oh, Germany wanted to speak with you about something as well. He said to give him a call if you needed anything."

"Da, Спасибо." The German was willing to help him, which was good, Ivan doubted he'd need the assistance but it was good of the other nation to offer. "Goodnight, Katyusha."

"Goodnight!"

He sighed heavily, hanging up the phone and rubbing his temple, wondering where else to look.

The phone he had just put in the console started to vibrate and ring joyously in a little notification theme. Rolling his eyes at the sudden business, he reached for it, seeing the MMS message and clicking the download button. He waited a few seconds, waiting patiently for both the retrieval of the photo, and the red light.

He glanced back down, not knowing what to expect- he rarely got picture messages- it was uncommon to get text messages for that matter. He received those kinds of messages from his government actually, text message about meetings, photos about a document- work privy things. However, it was close to midnight now, the office was closed, and whoever would have his number had surely gone to bed by now.

His violet eyes blinked, staring at the message, trying to understand. He took in each characteristic:

Matted blond hair, slightly wavy in its French influence, that slender frame, pale skin, heart-shaped face; his chest was bruised, red stained his skin, the glasses were missing, but Ivan recognized him. _Good god did he recognize him_. "Matthew," He whispered disbelievingly.

What… was this?

He checked the sender- Canada himself. His hand shook slightly, his fingers tightening around the plastic cover of his cell to cover the tremors. The ashen face stuck in his mind even after he tore his eyes away. This wasn't a joke anymore- he knew it was serious, Canada had indeed been kidnapped, and he had been hurt. The only thing left to figure out was who and why.

Was it another nation? He couldn't see how any mere human could have put Canada in this position. However, all the countries visiting were allied with him, and what's more, none of them knew Canada would even be there. Nobody noticed Matthew, so who would focus so much on the boy?

A horn from another vehicle behind him caught his attention, and he noticed that the light had long turned green. Making a split decision he knew he could count on, he flicked on his turn signal and turned around, accelerating passed the speed limit in a direction that would take him a step closer to Matthew.

"Kumajirou," The bear looked at him. "I'm going to find him. And whoever did this to little Matvey will pay."

One hand still around the phone, tightened once more and Ivan glanced at the picture on the screen again, rage boiling up in his chest. For this to happen to a guest in his Country, staying in his home- no… not just a guest- a _friend_, it was unacceptable. Canada was promised diplomatic immunity, was to be treated as an equal to him by his government and its citizens. This was an act of war, and Ivan took it personally.

It was a long drive, an hour at the least- Ivan made it to his destination in forty-five minutes. A relatively short time to anyone else, but what seemed like forever to Ivan. He had nothing but his thoughts to keep him company, and those thoughts were focused on the picture of Matthew. Over the course of the drive, he had imagined the perpetrators, the reasons, and the goal. They obviously wanted to involve Russia, as the picture had been sent to _him_. But _why_?

Nothing made sense, mostly because no other nation would be a stupid as to pull this sort of thing, and he could think of none that could afford a war right now. He had to stop thinking of culprit- at least for the moment. His first priority was finding Matthew, if he found Canada, he could deal with the cause personally, and violently without worry…

He almost missed his turn on a dark little road off the highway, the gravel under the tires loud after the hour of silence in the vehicle. A far ways up the small road was a large house; dark, as the residence inside slept; Ivan was about to change that.

Putting the car in park and shutting it off, he looked at the bear in the passenger seat, "This man is trustworthy, one of the few who know about us countries. Still, it is better to hide until he understands the situation." Kumajirou nodded.

Opening the car door to step out into the cold winter air, Kumajirou followed him, and together they walked up the steps of the relatively large house where they proceeded to wake up the family within.

In took a good few minutes of pounding on the door for them to get any reaction. A light shown from the entryway, and when the door opened to reveal a man in his late sixties, with black hair graying at the sides, and piercing blue eyes, glaring at his visitors, Ivan put on a childish smile, waving in greeting.

"_What do you want? It's one o'clock in the morning."_

"_Mr. Kozlov, nice to see you again, yes?"_

The man squinted at the Russian on his porch, looking him over for a second before his eyes widened. "Ivan Braginski?"

"Da," Russia replied with a smile.

"C-come in, quickly, out of the cold."

Ivan shrugged through the doorway, Kumajirou a step behind him, shaking some of the snow off his pelt in the foyer, then following the two men as they strolled into the living room, jumping onto the couch to sit and watch the meeting.

"It has been a long time, friend," Russia started. "Retirement is good, da?"

"Yes, very," The man answered, they seemingly understood to converse in English. "Can get a bit boring however… Can I get you anything, a drink, something to eat?"

"Нет, I only need your assistance."

Pausing, the man slowly sat down on an armchair, pulling the bathrobe he wore closer. "Sir?"

"As a man with many years of secret service experience, I am sure I can depend on you…" The smile on Russia's face disappeared, and in its place was a determined, intimidating expression. "I'm reinstating you Kozlov."

The man had all the right in the world to look so concerned, "S-sir, with all due respect, I've been retired for five years, isn't there someone in the current office-"

"I have known you all your life," Russia interrupted. "You were in the KGB during the Soviet years, and a close officer ever afterwards. You are one of the very few to know who and what I am." The stern voice turned soft, "I also never said it, but you were a friend as well. The best of the best, da, and I need you to help not only me… but someone else."

Kozlov, smiling slightly, running a hand through the short graying hair, nodded in acceptance. "I suppose, when my own country comes to ask for my help, I cannot refuse. Besides, I never thought of you as just a nation. You were… quiet a good friend too, Ivan."

He glanced down the hallway, "Allow me to get dressed, tell my wife I will be gone for a while. I assume we leave now, yes?"

"Da," The man left the room and Russia sank into the couch beside Kumajirou. "He will help," He told the bear, a large hand coming up to pet the coarse fur; Kumajirou had never fully settled down. Those black eyes still looked anxious, the ears constantly perked as if to hear Canada's voice. Red still stained the muzzle in places and Ivan sighed, standing again, this time with Kumajirou in his arms, walking into the kitchen and up to the sink. With a wet towel, he began to clean the bear's face, frowning when nothing gained any reaction from the animal.

"Kumajirou," The Russian asked. "I will need your help too. I know you miss him, but you will need to think clearly about how we will get him back."

Black eyes slowly turned to him, and the ears drooped. "He hurts. I hear pain."

Russia paused, "You can hear him?" He started to wonder just how connected the two were- perhaps one could lead him to the other?

"Little. Sometimes thoughts, sometimes feelings."

He set the wet rag down and focused everything on the bear in front of him. "Can he hear you?"

"I don't know."

"I have an idea then, Kumajirou. I want you to try to talk to him. Keep trying, and don't stop. He could tell us where he is, Kuma, do you understand?"

The bear nodded, before shutting his eyes. "There is nothing."

"It's ok if there isn't right now, just keep trying."

Russia sighed quietly, rubbing his temples, hoping that some kind of clue would present itself. In any case, Kumajirou could be a big key to finding Matthew, if their connection really was so strong. He went back to cleaning the bear's white fur until it was clear of all blood.

…Thank You…

Chapter 21~ Here ya go!

See, not long of a wait, eh? :P I'm getting back on track. I missed everyone; the best Christmas present was hearing from all you readers- old and new. I just missed this story, the characters, the thrill, and your reactions. Especially since I'm getting into the action.

Thank you for all the praise~ You're wonderful!

_Translations:_

Vous êtes mort! C'est tout simplement que vous ne le savez pas encore (French) : You are dead! It's simply that you don't know it yet

_Disclaimer :_ I don't own Hetalia, and Santa didn't bring it to me. D: I was nice this year! Er- … yeah, most of the year (don't ask my parents).


	22. Девять: Nine

Chapter 21: Countdown: Девять

"Ivan, forgive me for asking, but why is there a polar bear on my couch?"

Russia hid a smirk, a hand coming up to pat the white bear's head as the animal sat beside him. "I should introduce you, da? Kozlov, this is Kumajirou. Kumajirou, this is Kozlov. You may speak now; there is no reason to hide."

Kumajirou blankly looked from Russia to the human across from him, studying the man who was going to help find his friend; he was dressed in a casual suit, white button-up shirt tucked into black slacks, a blazer shrugged on. He sat comfortably but attentively on the armchair, blue eyes showing his seriousness. He was beginning to show aging around the eyes, but it added character- a certain regal and wise look.

Taking a short sniff, Kumajirou really couldn't see or smell anything special about the human, but at least he wasn't a bad person, that much the bear could tell. If Russia said they could trust him, Kumajirou would try. "Hello," He greeted, and the blue eyes widened to comical proportions.

"He can talk…"

"Da!"

"H-how is this-"

"He is like me," Ivan explained. "A part of a Nation's spirit." He waited for Kozlov to understand and with that knowledge, he calmed, Ivan continued by pulling out his phone. He opened the picture that had been sent to him, controlling his emotion lest he flinch at the sight. He handed the phone to the man across from him. "That… is Canada."

Kozlov took the phone gently, studying the picture with a stony expression.

"He was visiting me these past two weeks. We went to the Spasskaya festival last night. I was… distracted, and I didn't notice when he was taken."

"Taken," The man repeated. "How is that possible? No human can hope to match your strength, and I've seen how much you can live through."

"You forget that this was a festival, Kozlov. A rule that we nations must abide by, is to keep our abilities a secret to the civilian population. Whoever took Matvey chose the right time to do so."

"Yes, in the middle of everyone…" Kozlov nodded to himself. "Well, have you had any contact with the culprits?"

"Нет, they sent that picture from Canada's phone. I try to call, but the phone is turned off."

"They're waiting." Kozlov returned the phone, leaning back in his chair. "What are your guesses? Did you make any recent enemies? Is this another Nations doing?"

"I have many enemies," Ivan answered, glowering slightly in thought. "But none of them would make such a bold attempt. In the middle of Moscow, right in front of me… Besides, the nation representatives that are here are allies- and they would have nothing to gain by taking Canada. It has to be a human; an incredibly stupid one."

"Stupid or not, it will take time for us to get any leads. I can try to track the phone, but if it's anything like yours, it's a protected line. We'll have to wait until they call you."

Russia sighed heavily, knowing that this would require a lot of waiting, and Ivan was not a very patient man. "We should move. Your base of operations will be held at my house. It is too dangerous here; there is not as much security. Get what you need now."

Kozlov simply nodded, recognizing an order and stood up to obey. The next hour was spent moving machinery; the few laptops and devices used in this sort of case. The retired government official still had the newest technology, and his skills in the technical department were not lacking. They were able to store everything neatly in the back of Ivan's car, and Russia watched from inside the tinted windows of his vehicle as Kozlov said a short goodbye to his family.

Ivan could not hear what was being said, but he looked on with practiced indifference as the agent he had known for so long laughed with his beautiful and kind wife. They were complete opposites, Ivan could tell, his wife (Elena was her name) was petite, classy, coming from a more aristocratic family. She had been raised in the easy way of life, and yet, her father had taught her about the political world and that came with a nastiness all its own.

Elena was not pure of heart or innocent, but the fair-skinned woman, with her straight blond hair down to her hips, and the thin sundress that fit her dainty frame, she was a summer breeze compared to Kozlov's hard nature.

Retiring really helped the man relax, Russia observed.

Viktor Kozlov was a man with a dark past, dealing in the dirty work of the KGB- he worked up the political ladder through hard work and dedication, until it was his turn to be the boss. After the Soviet Union fell, he was one of the few reinstated into the Federal Security Service Bureau (FSB).

He had been such an arrogant simpleton back then, Ivan remembered. The first time he met the boy, Kozlov had attempted to order the Russian into leaving the room in order for the "big boys" to have a talk (Kozlov, the newly instated head of security, and the Russian President). Ivan laughed in his face and physically threw the boy out of the room. Russia made sure the kid knew respect very early in his new career; the only one who could ever order Ivan around was the President of his land; anyone else who tried would be sorely disappointed. Or dead, whichever came first.

Kozlov was a quick learner, however, and once he realized who Ivan was (or _what_ he was); the boy seemed to have brought a completely new attitude to work. He was curious, as many of the few humans who knew of his kind were; he asked too many questions, assumed many different things, and all around was a pain in Russia's side for months.

Until the supposed conspiracy of assassinating tycoon and oligarch Boris Berezovsky- the entire agency was split between those who believed their superiors were involved in the underhanded tactics or not. Many FSB officers were arrested then; some claiming everything was set up for Vladimir Putin to rise in power through the use of bombings and assassinations. The truth; Ivan would not say, but Kozlov had made it his duty to stick by and, in his own weird way, protect Ivan. Russia didn't need a bodyguard, and any assassination attempt would fail, if aimed at him.

Viktor didn't seem to care however; he took his job as head of security seriously, and the boy never left his side. Ivan had to admit, he ended up liking the kid, the stubborn attitude, even against Ivan's short temper, may have been exactly what he needed after his sisters had left him. Alone in his huge estate, everything eerily quiet, Russia knew it wasn't good for him, neither was his constant working (it occupied his time and stopped his thoughts from wondering).

That energetic naive kid helped him, even if Ivan remained distant.

Russia would never say how much it affected him when the boy finally retired. Thirty years went by too fast for Russia, who had spent hundreds of years living already. Five years ago, after the failed attempt at an assassination on a Russian administrator of the Unified Energy System, Kozlov admitted his growing age, and the affect it had on his older body. He retired to the country, with the blessing of everyone in the office, to live with his wife of fifteen years and their son.

Watching the boy grow up, marry, have a family of his own, it sent something of a pang of jealousy through Russia. Knowing he'd never have something like that… it was worth it to see the boy happy though- Ivan wondered if that's what he would be like had he been _normal_.

Smiling slightly in thought, Ivan watched the humans outside his window, giving their farewells and 'I'll be home soon's, until Viktor Kozlov gave his wife one final kiss before walking around the Bentley to slide in the passenger seat.

Ivan started the car, bringing his mind back to the present, waving off childish fantasies of being simple and happy- without worry. "You will get to meet my sisters," He said softly, backing out of the long driveway and onto the small, one-lane road that brought him there.

Kozlov laughed lightly, "I've met Belarus before- I remember that. However, I have never met Ukraine. With how much you spoke about her, it's a shame I hadn't the honor to speak to her until now."

He paused. "Sir, not that I'm unappreciative to be meeting actual _nations_, but seeing as I'm a... human," He scrunched up his nose, like he was unused to the word _human_ being a derogatory word. Yet in the presence of someone who was, by all means, invincible, human was a step down in the evolutional ladder, and he accepted it with a childish pout. "Is this against the rules?"

A smirk made its way on Ivan's face, "No human besides our rightful bosses have ever been acquainted with so many of the nations before. You are the first to know of so many."

"And that's not… illegal in some way," The man asked hesitantly.

"нет, there is a good reason for your involvement. Canada's disappearance is serious, and the less who know about it, the better. We must contain the information as much as possible…" Russia stole a glance at the human beside him, watching as Kumajirou slid from the back seats into the man's lap to look out the window. "The other nations would more than likely get involved if they knew; too many things could go wrong."

Viktor froze, hand in the process of petting the polar bear's fur in wonder (he had never seen a polar bear, much less touch one) he looked up, eyes wide. "How many other nations are we talking about?"

Russia looked almost sheepish, mumbling slightly, "They all came for the Spasskaya Bashnya… so, Germany, France, England, Italy, the Baltics, Sweden, Finland, America, and others." With every name, the blue eyes of the human grew wider and more fearful, his jaw dropped.

"All those nations are going to be there," He shrieked.

Ivan laughed, "Do not have a… what do you humans often suffer from- heart attack, da?" Kozlov looked ashen faced and after a few seconds of silence, Russia actually started to panic. "Viktor? You're not are you?"

The human twitched, breathing in harshly before letting out a loud bellow, "This is insane!"

…oOo…

Prussia growled in his seat on the windowsill of their hotel suite, one leg propped up, uncaring that the boots he had on smeared mud on the white wall. He had just tried calling Canada twice, after leaving the boy a few texts: "_where are you,"_ _"You still mad,"_ and_ "It's totally un-awesome to ignore me"_ went completely unanswered. His two calls went immediately to voicemail, and he was debating on whether or not to call that Russian bastard who started all this.

Scoffing in frustration, he threw his phone on the bed and turned to look out the window. Dawn was approaching, the horizon lighting up with colors; it captivated him, even though he remembered telling Austria he was a pansy when the man admitted to watching the sunrise. _Whatever, I'm awesome, they can deal with it._

A chirp was heard before an almost imperceptible weight settled on his shoulder. Prussia's hand came up to pet the little chick that could fit in the palm of his hand easily, taking him carefully and placing him in his lap instead, "Hey."

It chirped again in reply. "Sorry, Gilbird, I shouldn't let un-awesome people like _Russia_ get me down. Mattie though…" Gilbert frowned, leaning his head on the glass. "Eh, birdie can handle himself, right? I mean, he can kick ass when he wants to."

Gilbird let out a low squeak, as if agreeing with him.

The door across the room opened, revealing Germany stepping in the room, twitching a bit at the state it was in; they'd only been there one night and Prussia seemed to have destroyed the place. His eyes roamed across the clothes on the floor, the fast food bags, and empty cans of coke on the armoire, and then they settled on the bed. A frown pulled at the German's lips as he found the bed made and in the same condition as when they booked the hotel.

He cleared his throat, "Bruder, I noticed you did not sleep."

Gilbert shrugged, "Wasn't tired."

Germany sighed slightly, deciding to let the topic drop. "Would you like to join me for a jog?"

"Ja," Perhaps the cold air would do him well; and he did like the morning exercises he joined his brother on, it was therapeutic, fun, competitive, and one of the only things the brothers did together anymore. Prussia stood, setting Gilbird on the vacated seat, before following his brother out the room and down the hall.

Once out in the fresh morning breeze, Gilbert felt slightly better, and as the two started on a light run, he looked around at the city he could say he hated. Moscow, like all capitals of a country, was among the most populated- even at five o'clock in the morning pedestrians were already up and about. There was a certain smog in the air from so many vehicles, along with those few crazy people who didn't know how to drive (and shouldn't be allowed to)…

Okay, almost every city was like this; Berlin had the same problems, as did London, Paris, and all others, Prussia just wanted to pick out all the things he hated about Russia so he could brew on them, and further stimulate his anger. Russia was so very easy to hate too.

"You do not seem yourself today, bruder," Germany said from a few steps ahead of him, looking back slightly. "You are slow. Perhaps you are tired?"

"What? No way!" He sped up, until he was right beside his younger sibling, and they both picked up the pace.

"So, what is bothering you," Ludwig said it so calmly, even as they were moments away from a sprint.

Prussia scowled. "What do you think? I hate being here."

Germany nodded, "Ja, but you've been here plenty of times before, and did not seem this bothered."

"This time it's different!"

"How so?"

Gilbert groaned, as if explaining his dilemma was a great deal of trouble. "Mattie was here, and just- gah! And Russia… You know?"

Raising a blond eyebrow, Germany steadily shook his head. "Nein, I do not understand a word of what you just said."

"Pft, naturally." He thought of a way to properly explain his situation. Maybe if he retold it with Italy and France as the characters, instead of Canada and Russia?

"Okay, say Italy… was with France, and France, as you know, is like _oh, non, mon petit Italy, you have pasta sauce all over you, let me lick it_-"

"Bruder!" Germany's cheeks stained red, and an icy blue glare was sent his way. "Stop that. Do not involve Italy in your dirty thoughts!"

"Okay, okay! But look, if Italy was there, wouldn't you want to get him away from the scary rapist?" Prussia snickered, calling France a scary rapist- the guy was probably one of his best friends, but he wasn't beneath calling the guy names. France wouldn't have minded anyway, in fact, if Francis heard this conversation, he'd most likely let out a creepy laugh and prove him right. _Anyway, back on topic, Germany looks terrified_.

"Ja, of course I would!"

"Well, say you go save little Italy from being violated, and Italy doesn't want to go!" Prussia waved his arms wildly, almost tripping over a crack in the sidewalk as a result. "Italy doesn't want to be saved! And France is rubbing it in your face, and Italy is mad at you for trying to _disturb the peace_, and so you leave it alone, but maybe you want to check up on Italy, see if he's okay, but he doesn't return your messages! What's the deal? Maybe France really did something to him, but you have no idea and-"

"Gilbert, that would never happen," Germany stated, face in an annoyed expression. "This is _Italy_, and France wouldn't do that to him." They were like brothers… "Would he?

Prussia gave him a blank look in reply. Germany frowned, thinking of how he was going to have to keep a closer eye on the Frenchman now.

"Anyway, that's what's going on. Russia is the scary rapist that's after Canada, and Canada is the damsel in distress that doesn't want to be saved! It's annoying!" Prussia glared at the sidewalk.

Germany hummed, pausing in thought for a second, the name Canada sounding familiar. "Canada?"

Rolling his eyes, Gilbert huffed, "Ja, Canada, Mattie. The kid with the purple eyes and angry polar bear; really good sniper in the war. You'd remember him if you saw him playing hockey, gives me flashbacks all the time."

This time, Germany almost tripped. "Oh, I remember him, yes."

"Right, well, like I said, he won't return any of my messages! I didn't think he'd be that made at me!"

Ludwig frowned once more, the conversation with Russia yesterday coming to mind; Canada was the one that went 'missing' right? So far, Germany had been skeptical about anyone kidnapping an entire nation; that kind of thing just didn't happen, and if it did, it would be all over the news. Canada's military would rise; there would be a battle of forces… Everyone would know.

People like them didn't simply disappear, but Ludwig offered his assistance to Russia anyway; after all, they were attempting to have good relations after the war. No matter what kind of front Ivan normally put on for the others, Germany knew Russia was an intelligent, experienced nation; if Ivan felt something was wrong, who was Germany to disagree?

Prussia's words bothered him though; Canada was not answering anyone? Not just Russia? "When was the last time you saw Canada?"

Gilbert made a strange 'thinking' face, as they turned around a corner of a building, continuing to jog at a pace that would leave any human sweating and panting helplessly. For them, their muscles were barely feeling the strain of running such long distances so quickly. "Uh, at the fair-convention-thingy." He waved his hand noncommittally, "Then me and Russia got into a fight and… that's it. I don't remember him being at the little meeting outside. Oh man, he would have laughed his ass off if he saw his bear attacking Alfred though!"

Prussia busted out laughing over the memory for a good while as Germany jogged silently next to him, stone-faced. "Perhaps we should go see this Canada, bruder. He can't ignore you in person."

Gilbert grinned, "Nope! And if Russia did anything, I'll feed him to our dogs!"

Sighing (he does that far too much) he decided to fully concentrate on their exercise, picking up the pace, which Prussia followed happily. At some point, it became a race to see who could run the fastest for the longest period of time. For the next two hours they ran, until their breathing became labored, sweat soaking their shirts along the back; round and round the block, they couldn't count how many times.

By the time they called it quits, the sun was up for the day, and they picked up something light for breakfast, Ludwig taking something to go for the Italian probably still dead asleep in the hotel room. "We'll go visit your friend once I wake Italy."

"Ha, so in about an hour- your little boyfriend doesn't wake till almost noon. Then they take a nap at three, only to sleep again at a crazy early hour-"

"He's not my _boyfriend_," Ludwig protested, cheeks red and blue eyes wondering anywhere but at his grinning older brother. "It's a professional relationship!"

"Sure, that's what they call the relationship of two men who sleep in the same bed; _professional_."

Germany blushed even more, "That-just-he gets-"

Prussia laughed (in a maniacal way), patting his brother on the shoulder. "Hey, seriously, I like the kid, he's good for you. So hurry up and stake claim on 'im West, before some perv does it for you."

Still too flushed to say anything coherent, Germany just gave a tight nod, clearing his throat and trying to calm down. "J-ja, I will… try."

Gilbert grinned, swinging an arm around the blond's shoulders, noticing how tall the man was and trying not to pout at how much the kid he raised had grown. Prussia had long ago shrunk; his power, his influence, and his control- he hated it. But looking at how much his brother had grown, he didn't feel bitter; Ludwig was strong, wise, and he held such a position with more respect than Gilbert ever had.

No matter how poignant Gilbert was over his dissolution, he was always going to be proud of Ludwig. His smile turning somewhat softer, he pulled his brother closer, walking casually down the street, "Come on; let's go get your 'not-boyfriend.'"

…oOo…

Russia pulled up to his estate and parked near the front; he wanted something he could get away in quickly, and going around to the garage would have slowed him down. Not long after he turned the car off and opened the truck to unload the machinery inside, Ukraine and Belarus stepped out to greet him.

"Brother, you're back! I made breakfast, your boss had someone send over some paperwork, and-" Katyusha paused in her cheerful rambling at seeing Kozlov, the man standing there in his large winter coat, looking slightly nervous and out of place.

Ivan stood, two laptops under his arm and a tangle of cords held to his chest. "Da, sister, this is Viktor Kozlov; a former head of security agent. He will be here for a few days- work related. Kozlov, this is my elder sister, Katyusha, or Ukraine, and you have met my younger, Natalya."

"Yes, it is very good to meet you." He reached out for a handshake, but Katyusha simply gave a beaming smile and tackled him for a big hug, her large assets almost smothering him. "Ah! Miss-"

"Any friend of Vanya is nice to meet; we should become very good friends as well!"

"Y-yes." He was hugging a _nation_! A… very attractive one at that; he didn't know what to expect, only knowing of Russia- perhaps he thought all representatives would be so controlled and sophisticated?

Ivan rolled his eyes, noticing the human's shell-shocked expression. "Katyusha, leave him alone," he called behind him as he stepped inside.

Ukraine let the human go, smiling brightly, "Well, there's more than enough food, come join us for breakfast, okay? I'll set the table!"

The next second, the platinum blond, big-breasted woman was running inside, cheering about company. Belarus took the girl's place, a little too close for Kozlov's liking, her expression completely void of emotion. She stared at the technology set out in the truck, "What is this for, exactly, Mr. Kozlov?"

"U-um, just," Ivan wanted it to be a secret. "It's a federal case that Ivan asked me to look into; it just helps with more… computers."

Cold blue eyes looked at him, and Kozlov tried not to fidget; he'd seen that unimpressed expression on Ivan before, usually when the man knew something he didn't. Overall, that look was nothing good, and Kozlov knew she saw through his lie. "Well, I have to get these inside, so excuse me!"

Picking up the rest of his belongings and shutting the back of the car, he attempted to look busy, thankful when Belarus seemingly did not care enough to knock the truth out of him. Just as he was walking through the door, the sound of gravel crunching made him pause, watching as a white rental SUV pulled into the drive way.

"What are they doing here," Kozlov jumped at the voice, turning to see Ivan next to him, violet eyes narrowed slightly.

They both waited as the guests climbed out of the vehicle, the first was a smiling brunette; looking fairly young and hyperactive. He jumped out of the back seat, hands in the air and cheering something about the fresh air. From the front stepped out a tall blond, hair combed back neatly. He wore casual clothes but they seemed completely wrinkle free, Kozlov would figure the man looked better in a suit.

The other man was somewhat scary; shock white hair, unlike an elderly man (it was white, not grey), and bold red eyes. All three in the group looked vastly different from one another, both in appearance and in personality.

"Hey, bastard," The white haired man said, voice rough. Viktor's eyes widened as he realized the man was speaking to _Russia_ in such a tone. Was he suicidal? "I came to see birdie!"

"Bruder," The blond scolded, "Stop being disrespectful." Then he turned to the brunette who had fallen to the snow below him, rolling around in it happily. "Italy! You're going to get wet, stop that!"

The man on the ground sat up, pouting. "It's fun though Doitsu! Look, I made snow angels!"

Russia sighed, almost at the same time as Germany did. "Kozlov, that is Italy, or Feliciano." He pointed from the oblivious man in the snow to the stern blond. "Germany, or Ludwig. And the pathetic excuse of an albino is Gilbert, the used to be Prussia."

Gilbert growled, "And still awesome, don't you fucking forget it!"

Ludwig stepped forward, stopping shortly to lift Italy up from the ground. He pulled the smaller man along to the door. "And who may you be?"

The human held out a hand, "Viktor Kozlov."

"Da, da, introductions are over, we have work to do." Before Germany could take the man's offered hand in a shake, Kozlov was pulled by the back of his shirt into the house. He was pulled past the living room, down a hallway and into a large study, where he put the stuff in his arms down by the rest. "We will set them up. I want everything to be ready for a trace the moment I need it."

"Yes sir," Viktor replied, gathering together cords, opening the laptops- he had done this sort of thing many times before. Ivan helped, though Kozlov figured it was more out of impatience than any generosity.

Everything turned on, programs up and running, Kozlov smiled, nodding to himself as he turned to Russia who stood up to lean against the bookshelf to watch after the initial boot up process was over. "Everything is ready. There's nothing more I can do right now. As soon as you receive a call, I'll need to hook it up to this," He pointed at a small modem looking device connected to one of the laptops. Ivan nodded, straightening from the bookshelf.

"Are you hungry?" At Kozlov's nod, Russia motioned for the man to follow him out, back to the guests who were spread through the living room and kitchen. Italy was busy making pasta with Ukraine; Germany had found a nice quiet place to sit by the windows, reading something. Belarus sat across from him, sharpening and polishing her knives, much to Ludwig's discomfort, though he said nothing like the respectful man he tried to be. Gilbert, however, was flung across the couch, flipping channels on the huge TV with a bored look.

"You have nothing interesting on TV, _ever_," Prussia stated, tone flat. "You should tell your government that they're assholes for regulating it so much."

Russia smiled, "Of course, Gilbert, it's at the top of my things to do list."

Gilbert flipped him off but Ivan didn't care enough to respond like he usually would have; he wasn't in the mood for childish fighting, Prussia was an annoyance but he wasn't the enemy… Ivan wanted to save his anger for the pathetic excuse of a being that hurt Matvey.

His hands tightened into fists and something in his chest clenched. Ever since he had come back, something had seemed off, he knew now, that it was Matthew's absence that changed everything. That photo came back to haunt him, as it had every resting moment; Canada was not supposed to get hurt in his stay here- he was too good.

In all the time he had stayed here, Russia came to realize Canada's innocence; despite the rough undertones the boy had- his caring attitude, his forgiving nature, the special ability of being able to understand Russia more than anyone else ever had.

Many could call Ivan a cruel man, and he certainly wouldn't deny those accusations, but Ivan knew, without doubt, that doing something to Canada after all the boy had done for him… it was too much. Canada didn't deserve that. Compared to Russia, he was an angel- and someone Ivan and unknowingly promised to protect.

"Pasta is ready!"

He jerked slightly at the loud voice, watching blankly as Italy bounced from the kitchen, calling everyone to the table. Ukraine set down the last of the silverware, smiling kindly. "You've been working all through to lunch; you must be hungry after skipping breakfast."

"Yes miss, thank you," Viktor replied respectfully, his stomach growling loudly for all to hear, much to his embarrassment.

"Come sit, Vanya," Ukraine called, Ivan simply did as was told, settling at the head of the table, his sisters on either side of him. A plate of pasta was placed in front of him, a basket of toasted bread at the center of the table for everyone who wanted one. Italy was all too happy to see how people liked the food, regardless of the fact that everyone (besides Kozlov) had tried it many times before.

Russia didn't mind the tomato sauce covered noodles, it was indeed very good, but his mind wasn't on the food or the company around him. He stood from the table after a few bites, strolling into the kitchen, remembering the stashed vodka at the top of the refrigerator. He took a bottle, twisting it open and drank straight from the bottle.

His eyes closed at the familiar burn and the aftertaste of alcohol. For a moment, he let himself lean against the counter, lazily watching the commercial playing on the television Gilbert hadn't turned off. It was of some kind of cleaning product aimed at the housewives that wanted clean clothes while using less detergent. "No need to scrub at those grass stains anymore! Get _this_ and you'll never go back to your other cleaner~"

"Da," He agreed sarcastically, taking another gulp of his vodka.

A loud round of laughter came from the dining room and Russia attempted to ignore it. It was obnoxious; too shrill. Not like Matthew's at all- he cursed himself for thinking about Canada _again_, while he was trying to turn his thoughts somewhere else- but… Canada did have a nice laugh. It wasn't too loud, like Prussia's or Italy's, wasn't as high pitched as his sisters'.

It was a true laugh, fresh, and innocent, soothing- something Ivan wished to hear again now that he knew it was so far away.

"Little Ivan," Ukraine asked. "Are you coming back?"

Sighing, he stood, bringing his bottle with him back to the dining room. "I'm not too hungry."

"Sure," Prussia sneered, tearing off a piece of bread with his teeth. "You still hadn't told me where Mattie is."

Violet eyes instantly turned into a glare. "If you had any form of intelligence, one would think you would stop trying to fight with me, Prussia. My patience for your attitude grows thin."

"Yeah, well I wouldn't even be here if you'd just let me take Canada home."

"He wanted to stay with me, get over it, da?"

"Where is he then, bastard?"

"None of your business!"

"It is my bus-"

A loud jingle suddenly filled the air, making everyone pause, and Ivan's eyes widened slightly before jerking into motion. "Kozlov!" The human jumped from his chair, squeezing past Belarus with a frantic apology. Russia took long, quick strides that Viktor had to run to keep up with, until the study door slammed behind them.

Prussia stared, mouth open as if he was going to finish his sentence, everyone else wearing the familiar confused expression as well. Then, with a scoff, the Prussian stood, eloquently pushing the table as he did so. "Bruder," Germany started, watching Gilbert as he made his way from the dining room. "Don't get involved!"

"No, this is ridiculous," Gilbert snarled. Germany got up to follow, just to make sure his brother didn't take things too far. Feliciano followed _him_ because… well, just because. Russia's sisters were behind the brunette, concerned- and everyone ended up crowded around the door at the end of the hall, listening shamelessly.

…oOo…

Matthew's mind was a blank slate when he began to wake up; it was almost like a dream- a moment of amnesia where he couldn't remember what he was doing before. He couldn't recall going to bed and the ceiling he was currently staring at didn't look familiar. His head felt fuzzy, much like a dreary buzz after drinking. He was also aware of his position, spread eagle on his back; it wasn't a position he usually slept on, he favored his side.

Still, his body was… relaxed; he seemed to have sunk into the mattress as if it was the most comfortable bed in the world. He didn't want to move, not when he was so complaisant.

Still, his mind started to pick up the strangeness of the bed he was on: it had no covers… he was lying on the bare fabric. Where were the sheets? Why would he fall asleep on an unmade bed? And his clothes felt strange- he didn't remember changing to any PJs and even then, he didn't think he owned any like this- was that _silk_?

Honestly, he didn't _want_ to think these things, his head was still fuzzy, and his body wanted him to go back to sleep; such a relaxed state hadn't been achieved in a very long time. After a while, Matthew considered maybe that was what raised the red flag more than anything else did; seriously, _why_ was he so chill? He could clearly remember having some kind of argument with Alfred and… Russia did something; he was struggling to remember what he had been mad at the Russian for, but he knew the man irked him in some way.

Prussia was involved, so that made everything more likely to go downhill…

Oh, _Duh, the fight_, that's what had him all worked up. They were fighting about _him_, of all things; kind of weird for the Canadian as he was used to being invisible, to suddenly be the focus of attention would make him blush if the men thinking of him didn't get into a stupid fight over it.

_Who broke it up anyway?_ He blankly stared at the ceiling, trying to think, something at the edge of his mind saying it was very important that he remember.

When everything finally _did_ click in place, he could feel his heart skip a beat, eyes widening.

He was fucking kidnapped, that's what happened!

Suddenly, everything was observed more carefully, the sheet-less bed, the position he was in, the drowsiness, the way his body was simply limp; his muscles too relaxed, the pain from his body numb. He attempted to move, he wanted to see if he was restrained, but to his growing horror and frustration, his limbs refused to answer him.

All he had to do was move his arms and legs. That was simple right?

Arms… legs… _move_.

The nerves weren't registering his commands; he ordered his right hand to move, and it just laid there, completely useless.

His breaths started to feel labored as his panic soared; he couldn't move his mouth, he couldn't speak, he couldn't even turn his _head_. The more he tried to move the harder it was to discern; he was paralyzed, the only thing he could move was his eyes, he could still breathe (nearly hyperventilating, however, that was his own fault), he could still feel, and hear, and understand his situation perfectly.

This was bad, so bad…

Canada felt tears of frustration gather in the corner of his eyes. Looking around him, as it was the only thing he could do, he could barely see a metal stand to his left, holding a bag full of clear liquid, connected to a tube that ended in his arm. He glared at it hopelessly.

It was all in vain, but he attempted to move his left arm away from the damn drugs dripping into his system anyway. Nothing… naturally.

His situation was getting old, very fast. He had no idea what he was here for, the position he was put in was humiliating; kidnapped, beat, and stripped naked and then dressed in something revealing made of silk- by _pathetic humans_ such as them. Any other nation would laugh at the absurdity. He wanted to kill them.

He swore he would; just show him the boss and that man would pay… slowly and painfully.

A door sounded to his right, just out of his vision, deep, male voices in Russian were heard before they stepped up to the bed. The first thing Matthew saw was a pair of golden eyes as the human leaned over him, the one source of light on the ceiling fan blocked out by the man's head. "You are awake," A cheerful voice stated.

Canada couldn't talk, couldn't even move his lips to mouth out the words 'fuck you' so he settled for a glare. The man only smiled, showing clean white teeth. "It is very nice to see those eyes. Finally, I have been waiting all day." He made some gesture to the others behind him and the door shut with a loud thud. Matthew couldn't tell if they were alone or not.

"Well, I suppose it is only polite that I introduce myself," The Russian said, sitting on the bed carefully, leaning down like he wanted to get a good look at Matthew's face. "I am Dimitri Mihailov and you," He paused, bringing up a small card. "Must be Matthew Williams, yes?" He looked back at the prone boy, smiling lightly as he brought the object in his hand up for Matthew to see.

"Hope you don't mind me taking your driver's license, but how else would I find out who you were?" Matthew could think of a way: _asking_! Mihailov turned back to the license to read. "Twenty-two, wow, so very young." Canada would have laughed dryly, thinking _yeah, right, twenty-two._ That was basically a false ID that would allow him to fake normalcy.

"And _Canadian_," The man said with surprise. "I would have thought American."

If Canada didn't already hate this man, that comment would have done it for him.

"Very interesting," He mused, a small smile present on his face. "If I knew Canadians were like this I would have visited on occasion." A hazel gaze settled on Canada again, looking him up and down. "My my, you could have caught a cold overnight. I have to say though, not bad."

Canada's cheeks turned red, not just in embarrassment but also in anger; this man dared to put him in this humiliating situation and then pretends to care about his health?

"Such a vicious glare," The man let out an amused laugh, as if it was cute or something. Canada knew the man wouldn't be thinking that if he could _move_. Mihailov reached over to put away the driver's license, settling back with a content expression, simply staring at Canada with something unreadable in his unnatural eyes.

For Matthew, it was extremely uncomfortable, he was never studied this intently before; he was good at being unnoticed, people didn't care to give him a look-over. Many times that fact would make him slightly unappreciated or unattractive, but this time, he would have done anything to go back to being invisible. To escape those golden eyes would be a great relief.

He didn't understand why he was being stared at and the seconds ticked by like hours to Canada, his body feeling violated by the stare. When the man finally moved, Canada could do nothing, despite the fear he held in as a hand came up to touch his chest.

Near his collarbone was a burn scar; almost in a crescent shape, an inch wide at its thickest, caused by Alfred many years ago in the one and only invasion during the War of 1812. America had one similar to it on the opposite side of his chest, courtesy of Matthew's 'payback.'

The man touched the mark with gentle fingers, caressing the scar in a way that made Matthew sick to his stomach, he didn't want this man looking at him, much less touch him. Feeling the curious fingers drag across the scar, the man hummed thoughtfully. "I wish you could speak. That's the only thing about _Vecuronium_, the drug paralyzes the victim, usually used in surgical procedures- with anesthesia of course- but it does its job a little too well. It's very easy to put too much; then you can accidentally stop even the diaphragm from moving. That wouldn't be too fun, da?"

Matthew wasn't concerned, he'd stopped breathing before; wouldn't be the first death he had through his history. Mihailov laughed lightly, "Do not worry though! We have set the dose correctly, I assure you. And as a bonus, you get to lie down and relax- recover from that nasty car crash while I talk everything out with your friend."

Canada's violet eyes were suddenly more attentive, locking with the hazel above him, hoping the man would elaborate on what he was planning. Dimitri smiled, noticing the reaction even as he moved his hands down to untie the sash at the boy's waist; he had the maid put the blond in a rather beautiful looking silk robe. It was a dark blood red, contrasting perfectly with the light skin of the Canadian; white blossoms scattered across the material.

It was short, coming down to mid thigh, showing off the milky smooth legs. It was the only thing Matthew was wearing, and when pulled closed, it covered him decently, but Mihailov was curious, and more than a little pleased at the body presented before him.

"Red was a good choice," He murmured, pulling the lapels apart and exposing the chest to his eyes. He found more scars, one underneath the ribcage that spanned five inches long. Canada's gaze traveled back to the ceiling in shame as he felt a hand trace it- that one was from World War I, a brush on the Western Front that left him on the muddy ground, liver pierced, bleeding out to the sound of screams and explosions.

Waking up to England beside his bed, one of those rare 'I'm panicking' expressions on the usually stern Englishman, was the only return from the nightmare that was war. And now… Mihailov's less than innocent touch seemed to taint that memory. It was beyond disrespectful for a nation to prod another's historic marks without consent. Prideful as it was for a nation to show his experience, they came with dark memories.

"Well," Mihailov smiled again, eyes locking back on Matthew's face, even as the hand continued its slight touches along the boy's chest. "Why don't we speak to your friend? I am sure he is missing you terribly." One hand reached into his dress slacks, bringing out the phone Canada recognized as his own.

Waiting a long few seconds Mihailov laughed lightly, "So many calls and messages. You are very missed. Gilbert Beilschmidt, Alfred Jones, Francis Bonnefoy… So many people wondering where you disappeared to," He stated happily. "Too bad they do not need to be involved. I am only interested in one."

Every time a button was pushed, a certain tone would echo from the device. A few tones later and Mihailov held the phone up to his ear, waiting patiently for something. Matthew could only watch, trying to strain his hearing to hear the conversation.

The call was answered and hazel eyes brightened, connecting to wide violet. "Ivan Braginski, it is good to finally hear your voice." He suddenly brought the phone down, looking at the screen, finding a button, pressing it, and bringing it back up. "Apologies, what was that you said?"

A growl from the phone was his reply; he had turned on speakerphone for Matthew to hear. "I said, who is this," The voice on the other end was definitely Russia, and Canada closed his eyes, feeling pathetic.

"Ah, yes, my name is Dimitri Mihailov! Now that we have been introduced, I assume you received my picture message, yes?"

"Yes," The answer seemed to have been said through gritted teeth. Ivan was not happy, Matthew wondered if he was mad at Canada for getting himself into this mess.

"Good, and I assume you would like Matthew Williams back," His smile turned a bit devilish. "If you don't I'm very sure I can find a place for him. With his looks, it wouldn't be hard at all." Canada opened his eyes to glare; like that would happen, they would have to take him off this drug sometime.

"What the fuck do you want," Matthew started at the curse from his little red phone.

Dimitri laughed, "Straight to the point, yes. You see, I run a little underground fight club, and I was wondering if I could borrow your skills for tonight." The man shrugged, as if Ivan could see. "I have some important people coming in, they want to see real action, something I know you could provide-"

"I'm not someone for hire," A snarled interruption.

Suddenly, the happy look Mihailov had on his face was gone, and those hazel eyes narrowed, lips thinning. "I thought you would be more cooperative than this Ivan, perhaps you should call me back when you seem more accommodating." With that, Mihailov shut the phone, hanging up on Ivan and _tsk_ing sadly.

Turning to Canada, he tilted his head slightly in curiosity. "How can you stand someone like him? He is not someone you should associate with, you know." A hand came up to brush the blond's cheek. "You're much better than that, Matthew."

Canada merely glared. _As if he would know what's better for me._

"However, I give him about a minute. He'll call back, ready to do anything I say. After all, you're a special little key for me to use against him."

Matthew wasn't so sure; they had a little over two weeks to get to know each other and become friends, sure, but Russia wouldn't bend over so much for him. Canada wasn't that special to the Russian- wasn't that special to anyone really… he thought.

Who would bring themselves down to take orders from this creep for _him_? Nobody he could think of.

A hand at his abdomen brought him back to reality, glaring at Mihailov as the man let his palm rest over his belly button, thumb making small circles in his skin absently. "Your eyes are beautiful," He said wistfully, leaning over until Matthew could feel his breath against his cheek. "_You_ are beautiful, I must say. Ivan is very lucky to have landed such a man. I can only imagine how you would look with a blush of pleasure on your face." He let out a chuckle as Matthew glared. "Similar to a blush of anger I'm sure."

Leaning even closer, their cheeks brushed and Canada shivered, bumps rising along his skin as lips traced his ear. "Maybe I will witness how you look underneath a real man. Who knows, should Ivan disappoint me, at least I will have a body to share my bed with."

A ringing echoed through the room and Mihailov leaned back slowly, hazel eyes holding a certain emotion that made Matthew sick; his eyes turning away wanting nothing but to hide from this man. He got a smirk at the futile attempt, Dimitri turned back to the phone, watching it ring for a few agonizing seconds before answering.

"So have you decided on whether to come to my little party, Ivan?"

"What happens if I do this?" Something must have changed in Ivan, his voice had calmed.

"Well, if you want to spoil the surprise, you get close to five million for winning in the tournament."

"I don't care about money, I do this for you, and I get Matvey back, da?"

Mihailov laughed, Matthew was really coming to hate that sound. "Let's not worry about the future just yet." Something of a protest started but Dimitri continued on over him, "The tournament will be at the Bloodlust Pub, a place I know you've been to. Show up around eight; a colleague of mine will meet you there and explain everything. Understandable?"

A second or two of silence before Ivan answered through gritted teeth, "Da, I'll be there."

"Good. Otherwise, Matthew here would have to face my anger. He is counting on you Ivan."

"Put him on the phone-"

"He is unable to speak, I'm afraid, but I will happily send another picture to update you on his health. It was nice speaking to you, Mr. Braginski. I hope our partnership goes well."

For the second time, Mihailov simply hung up, looking to Matthew with a happy smile. "He is so good at following directions! Now, I must get things ready for tonight, it won't take long, I promise!" He leaned over; giving Matthew a short kiss on the lips before laughing at the dark glare sent his way.

The echo of that hated man's laugh stayed with him until he left the room and Matthew was left alone to wonder in self-pity.

…Thank You…

New chapter! And it's a bit bigger than normal. I hope you all liked it~

I'm really liking the action too, everything coming together- I still have to involve the others, and when other get involved things get harder to write, so I'm going to try and keep them separated as much as I can. It's cool though.

Thank you so much for everything! Your reviews are so helpful! I love them all, I've missed everyone terribly.

Also, sorry for not replying to as many reviews as I usually do, but I have a new e-mail address, and the transition seems to have messed with the notices. So, sorry!

… I have to go bathe my dog now… Muahahaha!

_Translations: _

Were none, lucky for me and my translators. Ha ha.

_Disclaimer:_ I'm tired of saying it, it's really obvious, but if I get sued you guys would be out of a story! So fine, I don't own anything copyrighted included in this story!


	23. Huit: Eight

Chapter 23: Huit: Eight

Prussia growled low, feeling cramped in the little hallway, up against the door, listening to the rather one sided conversation going on inside. He couldn't understand what was going on; who Russia was talking to, what about- but it was obvious that the man did not think fondly of the caller.

He couldn't see what was going on and he wasn't brave enough to crack the door open to peek through, as that surely would have been noticed by the Russian. With the amount of anger the man was showing Prussia, for once, knew that now was not the time to mess with him, lest that anger blow up and the entire house and all its occupants became nothing but dust.

Having lived with the Russian for quite some time in the past, Gilbert had a good understanding on how far he could push the boundaries. He had made a game of it many times- it was fun, as they both hated each other and they both liked to fight- it became a favorite past time.

Experimenting with Ivan's anger was a dangerous sport; on some days Ivan was ready to take the bait, perhaps he was bored as well and figured that a gruesome fight would relax him. Other times Russia would wave off his taunts like they were nothing. Sometimes one topic would have more effect than another: The government's regulation, the wars Ivan had been in- everything from political affairs to personal tastes.

There was once a time when Prussia questioned the red paint on the walls being more of a shade of pink than anything, and asked if Ivan was actually one of those flamboyant faggots still hiding behind a fake macho exterior. Really the guy could just come out and admit he liked fairies, the color pink, was wearing a tutu under that big-ass coat, and wished nothing more than to be a pretty ballerina.

… Prussia was bed-ridden for two days after he said that, but the look on Ivan's face was well worth it.

One thing remained the same however, there were lines that not even Prussia would cross, subjects that Gilbert would never bring up. For one, Prussia was not suicidal, he liked the adrenalin rush that accompanied fights, and the pain afterwards was not completely unwanted, but he knew when to give up and retreat. Russia was stronger than him, and as such, could easily kill Gilbert had he truly wanted too.

Perhaps the only reason he _wasn't_ dead, (other than the fact that Germany's retribution would give Russia more than enough trouble should he try) was because he knew what _not _to do.

Number one taboo topic of discussion: Ivan's sisters. Anyone who insulted them (even the creepy obsessive one) would get the full extent of the man's wrath. Ivan's sisters were _not_ to be messed with. Honestly, you could insult Ivan all you wanted and you may get away with it, but if you say one thing bad against Ukraine or Belarus… well, men have died that way.

Number two taboo topic of discussion: Ivan's scarf. All Prussia knew was that it covered some ugly scars on his neck, which was the taboo topic of discussion number three. Apparently it was a hand knitted scarf from Katyusha, but Gilbert didn't care. He learned not to make fun of it (and not to never even _mention_ the scars).

Ivan was complicated, to say the least. He had a very short temper, was not afraid to beat you to near death, and if you were anywhere near him when his anger burst, you were as fucked as the next guy.

The point of all this: Gilbert was getting kind of worried. The _pissed off_ meter was full and Prussia hoped he could run fast enough to get out of the way should Ivan go crazy- and that possibility was increasing with every second.

Up until now, Ivan had been threatening someone over the phone, his teeth gritted, voice guttural. Gilbert could hardly hear through the thick oak door, despite his ear pressed flat against its surface, but then Russia wasn't so quiet anymore. A huge _crash_, like the sound of many things falling reached his ears and Gilbert unwittingly twitched in reaction; Ivan would usually start breaking household items before moving to flesh and bone. Somewhere in the middle Ivan had let out an angry snarl, "He fucking hung up on me!" And Gilbert wondered just who would endanger themselves to such an extent?

This was followed by another large crash which made everyone out in the hallway flinch that time. The cop somewhere inside the room tried to calm the Russian but Prussia could've told the poor fool that it was an impossible task. The human was right in the warzone and Gilbert could only imagine how he felt for a human to be in the presence of a nation as big as Russia as he was showing such anger. "Don't you _dare_ move from that computer, if I am going to agree to these ridiculous terms you better have _something_ of a lead."

"The line is protected, there's a jam in the d-device, it won't-"

"Then get around it!"

"S-sir… I can try, but," There was another crash, a low murmured threat, and Viktor stuttered out something Prussia could barely hear, "Please" … "Matthew" … and "Agree to it" were all he could make out.

Steady silence followed, in which everyone began to get fidgety. They had every right to be nervous, Ivan was unpredictable right now and they could only wonder what he was doing.

Prussia began to wonder if the cop was dead yet- but then Russia sighed, his voice suddenly very different: reserved, almost exhausted, but still holding slight anger in his tired tone. "Fine… We will have to carry this out the old way; since the phone is practically _useless_."

Proving that he was alive, the human agreed meekly; Gilbert was just trying to figure out what happened. One second he was sure Russia was going to go on an insane killing spree, the next, he was empty of all that rage, quietly moving across the room (heavy footfalls were heard before a chair squeaked).

"Stay quiet," Ivan replied, the order holding no force behind it for once, and something like the tones of buttons were pressed.

Prussia pressed against the door even more, listening acutely to see if he could hear the man on the other line.

"What happens if I do this?"

Belarus shoved past Germany, who had a peculiar expression on his face that Prussia couldn't seem to care about at the moment. Natalya pressed against the Prussian, trying to listen as well; however, she did throw a glare that could freeze the Amazon at him, just to show how much she disliked their position. Gilbert stuck his tongue out at her in childish repute; they never really got along, his nature was termed _savage_ by her once, and Gilbert had immediately came back with a rather harsh comment about her flat chest.

He probably knew better than anyone where those knives came from and how fast and skillful she could use them. Perhaps he would have been attracted to her if she wasn't so creepily obsessed with Russia, something he _never_ understood and really didn't want to attempt to. Pity, because he kind of liked the classy yet deadly act she had going on.

A growl from inside the study got his attention; Belarus leaned closer to the door. "I don't care about money, I do this for you, and I get Matvey back, da?"

Prussia's red eyes widened, processing that sentence, what it could mean- and then his brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed angrily. "Da, I'll be there…" Belarus and Prussia locked eyes, each showing anger, but for different reasons.

Things were slowly starting to make sense with the new information, and Prussia made a fist with his pale hands.

"Нет-Put him on the phone- You- Черт возьми!" Ivan's notorious anger came back with a sudden sharpness and there was another crash. "That… Ублюдок! Who does he think he is? Search his name, Dimitri Mihailov, I want to know everything about him- do it now, Viktor."

"Yes sir."

Gilbert was tired of waiting, he may have been wary about Ivan in his current state, but he knew the situation was serious. Matthew was involved… he put his hand on the door knob, twisting it open and leaning in the doorway, as far from Ivan as possible and trying to look casual about it, arms crossed at his chest, red eyes narrowed. "So, where is _Matvey_?"

Ukraine squeaked, trying to push past everyone to stumble into the room. "Brother, what is going on?" Her large cool blue eyes looked an instant away from tears.

Ivan was seated in his desk chair, leaning back, his black phone tight in his hand; he had to regulate his strength lest he break the only connection he had to Canada. His mauve eyes were incredibly darker than usual, tinted almost a red rather than the normal amethyst. The look he sent to Prussia made even Germany flinch but his eyes flew over his sister's form; he looked at everything besides Ukraine's face, as if afraid of her reaction- or ashamed of his answer to the obvious question.

It couldn't be ignored however, and absolute silence hung in the room, everyone waiting. "Canada has been kidnapped."

Prussia snapped, "I fucking knew it! This is what happens when we let anyone near _you_!"

Ivan seethed. "Don't act like this is my fault!"

"It is your fault! We're in _your_ country!"

Germany laid a hand on Gilbert shoulder, "We cannot blame one another-"

Ukraine started to cry. "Why would something like this happen? Who is responsible- why _Canada_?"

Gilbert stepped forward, shrugging off his brother's hand, and slamming his hands down on the desk Ivan sat at, "Why couldn't you have just let me take him? I knew nothing good would have come from staying with you-"

Ivan stood; towering over the desk that was now collateral, merely a flimsy piece of wood standing between the two men who were seconds away from all out battle. "Matvey was perfectly safe with me and for your information; he was taken at the festival, when I was distracted by _you_. If you hadn't started a fight I would have been able to stop it!"

"Bullshit! You're nobody we could trust! If Matthew wasn't kidnapped then, he would've gotten hurt some other way!"

The desk was gone in one smooth motion; Ivan's hand on the edge flipped it across the room, colliding with the wall and the lined bookshelf, the oak was sturdy enough to stay intact but the shelf was not so lucky. A few of the boards broke, sending the books and trinkets it held up to the ground. A glass globe of some kind shattered with the impact, glass flying across the wood floor.

Russia's fist, powered by his abnormal strength flew through the air next; it would have connected with Prussia's face, shattering bone with its force. Gilbert was ready for it, bringing his arms up for a block, knowing that dodging would have been more ideal- he had little room for such a move though, and even less time to pull it off; he'd rather take a broken arm over a broken face.

Germany had other ideas however; he moved at the first sign that things were going to get physical. Before that desk had taken flight, he had jumped forward and grabbed hold of Gilbert's shirt at the neck, pulling back quickly enough for the debilitating blow of Russia's to miss, Prussia was practically thrown back into the hallway, almost bowling over a frightened Italy who was near tears.

Gilbert hit the wall with a thump, not hurt, but surprised and angry at Ludwig's interference, he was ready to stride back in the room and beat sense into that Russian until he felt better. The situation in front of him gave him hesitation though, and his momentarily cloudy mind cleared as he watched Ivan.

Red eyes looked at him, the eyes of a murderer being held back by all of Germany's strength. Ludwig had to use both hands to hold the Russian where he was, blue eyes narrowed with the effort, and his voice was high, stern and with a tint of panic. "We have to remain calm! Russia, do you understand? It doesn't matter whose fault it is! That's not going to –"

"It was not my fault," Russia snarled.

"Nobody is saying that it is!" Germany grunted, pushing back as Ivan attempted to get past him, the Russian's hand at his wrist probably caused a fracture, but Ludwig continued to hold him back. He shoved until Ivan's back met the wall. "Russia, I know it is not your fault! I do not blame you; now calm yourself so we can find Canada together!"

Ivan huffed with the effort of struggling with the German, wanting nothing but to hurt the Prussian who dared to say what he had. Ludwig's words slowly began to register though, and he replied with an animalistic voice. "You will help find him?"

"Yes, I will, we all will. But we have to stay calm; anger will not solve this case. Let it go."

The man's struggle ceased and he leaned against the wall, his body was shaking with the suppressed rage and the glare he sent Prussia was still full of murder, but he eventually turned his red eyes away. Germany slowly eased the pressure on the Russian's front, watching carefully if the man was going to make another move. He didn't and Germany sighed, backing away and turning slightly to the others. Both Italy and Ukraine were crying, Prussia was still out in the hall, arms crossed and staring off in the direction of the living room, and Belarus stood at the doorway, where she had been, face blank.

Ludwig then turned to the human, sitting on the floor in front of the computers, looking back at him with a shell shocked expression. "Okay," He cleared his throat. "So Canada has been kidnapped. We need to find out who, and why."

Ivan brought the phone up to stare at the screen, noticing a crack in the plexiglas from his grip on it. "His name is Dmitri Mihailov," He answered, voice thick. "The name doesn't sound familiar, and I don't know the why- he wants me to fight in a tournament for him, somewhere downtown."

"Anything else?"

"Нет, that's all I know."

Germany turned back to Viktor, attempting a soothing smile for the poor man who had been dragged into all this; it probably didn't turn out to be so comforting. "Can you get any information on him? At this point, anything on his record would do us good. We need to find out who he is."

Kozlov nodded and turned back to the laptops, typing quickly. Then he turned to Prussia, "Brother, we're going to need a map." Gilbert made a rough sound of acknowledgment, stiffly striding down the hall and out of sight. "Italy, Ukraine," He tried to say gently so as to calm their nerves. "I'm sorry we weren't able to enjoy all the food you prepared, perhaps if you put it away we can eat it later, Ja?"

He needed them out of the way, they didn't need to be involved, and the less time they had to think about the situation, the better. He would have to think of things to busy them with, for now, they nodded and shuffled out the door to clear the table and clean the kitchen.

Belarus was the only one left, and Germany didn't know what to say to her- by far, she was the most level headed of them all at the moment; nothing seemed to concern her at all. The only thing she looked bothered about was the way Ivan had acted; her dark eyes simply stared at him underneath white bangs, and her head tilted slightly, as if she were confused.

"There is something else…" Ivan's murmured voice caught their attention.

Frowning, the German watched as Ivan did something with his phone, the red gaze hard and jaw set, as if that anger was still bubbling just under the surface of composure. Then Russia handed the device to him, the stare never breaking as Germany took it in his big hand.

Upon looking at the screen, the German sucked in a breath, studying the picture it displayed closely. "This is Canada?"

"Da…"

Belarus stepped up to look over Germany's shoulder, her expression blank. Ludwig looked up, a haunted look on his face. "These are _humans_, yes? How can they do this much damage?"

Ivan shook his head. "I don't know. But there's a chance to get some answers tonight, I was told someone would meet me there."

"What is this tournament," Germany asked.

"An illegal fighting ring, they're all over the city, but this one is held twice a year. Winner of the competition wins cash, but I don't think that's what he is after… he said nothing about giving him the money, but giving entertainment to some… important guests of his."

"Hm, we'll just have to wait until whoever you meet there can give some answers."

Natalya 's bland voice carried in the silence, cold and indifferent. "It will all be in vain." All three men in the room paused to look at her. Her eyes were locked on Ivan's, ignoring all other gazes. "Whoever is sent will not give away priceless information, not without coercion, and I do believe this Mihailov would not appreciate his subordinate being tortured."

Germany could only wonder why she had to be so negative, even if her words rang true, he got the feeling she was saying this simply to create more tension, and glancing at Ivan, he could see it working. Russia narrowed his eyes at her. "Then what do you propose we do, Natalya?"

"Nothing," A simple reply, harsh and heartless in tone, and then she turned, taking small dainty steps to the door, hands folded in front of her. "Canada is a nation, not a damsel in distress; surely he can prove himself as more than a nuisance by getting out of his own mess."

Ivan growled, "That is uncalled for, sister. Just because you dislike him for your own silly reasons does not mean you can ignore his situation. And just because he is a nation does not mean he does not need help."

She turned her head slightly, pausing in the doorway. "Then let his family take care of the boy, _you_ are not responsible."

"But I am," Russia disagreed. "He was my guest. This is my nation, and whoever kidnapped him is against _me_, for something I had done. Matvey helped me when I needed it. I will return the favor. _You_ however," His voice grew sharp. "Have nothing that would keep you here. And I'm fairly sure I told you to leave. So go, if you're so inclined to be a, what was you called it… _nuisance_."

For a brief moment Germany, who had been silent and observant the entire time, could see the small woman tense, whether from anger or grief he wasn't sure, her hair hid her face from view. She forcefully relaxed in the next second however, and then gave out a noncommittal hum, stepping out. The dull clacks of her broad heeled shoes the only sounds as she moved down the hall.

Prussia came in a moment afterwards, holding a large paper map of the city. He handed it over to his younger brother, still holding a bit of an attitude and sternly avoiding Ivan's less than happy stare.

Germany pulled the desk upright with a large clatter and groan- then opened the map and spread it across the surface. "Now, where are you to participate in this fight?" Ivan pointed, and Ludwig circled the location with a pen he always carried with him. "Ok, I will follow in a separate car, we'll scope out the vicinity, and perhaps these important visitors of Mihailov will give us a lead, if I can get their names."

A polite cough interrupted their plans and the three nations looked at Viktor Kozlov, holding a stapled packet up to them, "Everything I could find on the name Dmitri Mihailov. There were a few people with that name, but this one," He laid the thickest packet on the table. "Is most likely the one you're looking for."

Ivan read aloud, "Born in Kazan, Thirty-two years old, mother died of cancer when he was four, Father died of suicide when he was fourteen. The mom was a secretary… Father, Erik Mihailov, owned a large part of an aircraft manufacturing company. Dmitri inherited the fortunes and took over a year after his death."

"So he's a rich bastard," Prussia snorted, rolling his eyes. "Parents died, blah, blah, tragic life for the poor kid, what's his criminal record?"

"Not much of one," Ivan replied. "Did great in school, went to college." He flipped a page, skimming the records. "Until he hit the late twenties, his name started to appear on suspect lists- he's been suspected of no less than three murders. One woman, said to have escaped a sex slave trade heading across Poland and the Baltics… Have to talk to them about that- And two men, both attempted to steal money. Police couldn't gather enough evidence to pull anything over him."

"I don't get it," Ludwig frowned. "With his inheritance he would have no need to get involved with this kind of thing; illegal fighting, sex slavery, kidnapping, ransom. What could his reasons be? He's had a good life."

Gilbert shrugged. "You know, sometimes it's the sheltered and babied kids who go wild when set free."

…oOo…

Climbing into the white SUV, Ludwig started the engine, put on his seat belt and paused with his hand on the gearshift. His bright blue eyes locked on the little group gathered in front of the door of Ivan's estate. Italy, Prussia, Ukraine, and Kozlov… Germany was not concerned about the latter two, but the first and second; he wasn't very confident about leaving them anywhere alone. He pressed the button on his door, rolling the window down and hanging out of it to get their attention. "Italy, Bruder! We will be back soon, be on your best behavior! Mr. Kozlov is in charge!"

Prussia scowled, "What? We're not kids, damn it! And why does the _human_ get to be in charge, huh?"

"Just don't destroy anything!"

"Whatever!"

Germany sighed, rolling the window up and putting the vehicle in reverse, following the black Bentley out of the driveway, keeping distance as they got to the busy roads. The sky was darkening at the horizon, sunset coming at a much earlier time here, the clock on his dashboard said it was only five.

He was glad to have memorized the location of this event, otherwise he would have lost sight of Ivan in the fall of night, and the traffic thickened, meaning the Bentley was at least five cars ahead of him. An hour later they ended up in the same place, a large parking lot, relatively full.

Ludwig found a spot, watching Ivan get out of his car a row away and followed casually, hands in his pockets, looking around at the few others going the same direction. Mostly men, easily categorized into two groups: the ones who were fighting (big boys, with angry expressions and a confident strut), and the ones who were watching (dressed in suit-and-tie, looking arrogant but boisterous).

Germany was glad for the outfit he wore; khaki slacks, a button up white shirt, and a beige blazer. It wasn't as fancy as some of the others but it would work for him. Ivan seemed to have left his scarf and coat in the car, for he wasn't wearing them. Simple black pants and a long sleeved brown shirt covered his form, his hands stuffed in the pockets, face blank from what Ludwig could tell.

The Bloodlust Pub was a dingy little place, but was apparently quite popular with the locals. Heavy bass echoed from the brick building, and he could see red lights through the few windows, it was less classy, that was for sure; more of a heavy-metal themed club with people dressed in black leather and lace, chains and boots.

Ivan didn't go to the entrance however, and Ludwig followed him casually past the line waiting to get inside and into a back alleyway.

The hall was narrow and winding around the back of the building, a space only four people could fit through shoulder to shoulder. At the end, two heavy men stopped every person trying to get past, waving a hand-held metal detector across their bodies, a thorough search for any weaponry. Women's purses were checked, all jewelry came off, nothing could make that detector blink if you wanted past. And if the bouncers were still suspicious, they frisked your person, just in case.

Ivan had warned him about this, of which he was thankful for, because he always carried a gun on him, a special .45 caliber model of a pro series limited, his baby that he was forced to leave in the SUV, along with his military standard knife.

These people were serious about no weaponry, though, and he could understand, one too many deaths from lost money, failed bets, and a fight gone wrong. As he stepped up to be checked, he knew he wouldn't have been able to sneak his gun in without proper cover in the first place. They even make him take off the boots so they could feel the soles and make sure nothing was slipped inside.

Once through the security, they were directed to a simple metal door in the side of the brick building the club housed. Apparently, this section was completely separate however, and the moment he walked in the room, he could tell the difference. The walls were covered in soundproof cork tiles, a dark material, almost black in the dull light. The soundproof textile most likely insulated the floors and ceiling as well.

The room was large, with sparse people at this early hour, there was a simple booth to the right of the door, and along the back wall was a bar of some kind. The most obvious feature, and the thing that concerned Germany the most, was the physical _pit_ in the center of the room.

The only way up or down was a metal ladder, and railings around the circumference kept anyone from falling in. Ludwig got close enough to look down, seeing the dirty brick surrounding the circular death-pit, stained red in many places, graffiti, and blood that they hadn't bothered washing off apparently. Taking a deep breath, knowing that this event was not going to be a simple or easy task for himself or Russia, he walked to the bar, a chair away from where Ivan now sat, in the process of ordering a drink. Ludwig followed his example.

…oOo…

"Ve, they're going to be okay, right?"

"I… h-hope so. Matvey…"

"That's Canada's name, yeah? Matteo!"

Ukraine, despite her sorrowful mood, smiled at Italy's enthusiasm. Prussia scoffed lightly, grinning, "I think the kid has enough nicknames. Mattie, Mat, Matvey, Matteo, Birdie… Ha, mines so original! Beat that!"

Katyusha giggled. "It is a cute name."

"Hell yeah it is!" Prussia threw an arm around her shoulders, grin widening. "Then again, Canada _is_ cute, kind of like a girl right? The name suits him." He nodded, agreeing with himself.

"Oh, but Matvey would get mad if you said that…"

"You agree though right?" Gilbert asked, turning to her to see her cheeks tint pink before nodding shyly. He cackled. "I wonder what he would look like in a dress."

Ukraine squeaked, "W-what?"

Viktor gave the Prussian a weird look as well. "You know, you're very… unexpected."

Gilbert's arm snatched hold of the human with his free arm, bringing him in, "You mean unpredictable? Exciting? Sexy? _Awesome_?"

"Um, more like immature, strange, and kind of scary."

Prussia paused, wondering if he was going to be insulted about that, but decided he wasn't at all, the opposite really, he found that incredibly hilarious, and his laughter showed it. "I like you kid!" Kozlov looked even more fraught, not only had he not been called a _kid_ in a very long time, but he was a little overwhelmed by the Prussian's attitude. One second he was fighting against Russia in which Viktor felt he was in world war II, and the next Gilbert was like an adolescent punk causing trouble.

Was it really so bad that Germany had to put _him_ in charge of three _nations_? At first the thought that comment was a joke but looking at the three around him, he was starting to believe he was the most responsible one… _That_ was one hell of a scary thought.

"Hey, what do you say we go out for the night too, huh?"

Kozlov blinked dumbly, "What?"

"Yeah, it'll be fun! Guys out on the town. I bet you know some great places, little Ruskie!"

"W-wait, we're supposed to stay here-"

Prussia's arm around his shoulder slid up, wrapping around his neck like a coil, squeezing threateningly, "It'd be fun, right?"

Viktor squeaked, recognizing a warning when he saw one; he didn't know what the Prussian was trying to do, but obviously, for some crazy reason that eluded him, he was chosen to help… "R-right."

Gilbert turned his smile on Italy and Ukraine. "Can you two hold the fort while the boys are away?"

Italy jumped giving an enthusiastic "Yes!" While Katyusha nodded hesitantly, wondering if that was such a good idea but not willing to say anything against it.

"Great! Viktor and I will be on our way then. Talk to ya later!"

With that, he pulled the human along with him to the garage, a set of keys pulled out of his pocket. They found the Porsche, a car Kozlov didn't think they should be driving, but Prussia opened the door as he whistled a happy tune. Viktor, against his better judgment, got in the passenger side. "So," He said slowly, wondering at the whistled tune as the sports car spun out of the garage with a little too much power than was necessary. "Where are we going?"

"This is a nice ride, but of course it would be, cause it's _German made_, asshole!" Gilbert cackled, happy to insult Russia, even with the man not here. He stomped his foot on the accelerator, grinning as the speedometer climbed.

Viktor cursed, buckling his seatbelt and trying to find something to hold onto. "Our turn is up ahead!"

"I know, watch this," Prussia answered with childlike glee. A quick spin of the wheel and the car squealed and slid down the road at a tilt, the back-end of the Porsche drifted to the side. Gilbert handled it like a professional, that evil grin on the face the entire time. He pulled out of the spin that had turned them in the direction of the road they were supposed to take, and just like that, the terrifying (to Kozlov) experience ended.

He slowly opened his eyes, seeing that they hadn't died, and watching blankly as Prussia looked back. "That was awesome! This baby handles good." He turned to Viktor, grinning still. "You ok? I had it under control, kid. Relax, huh?"

Kozlov cleared his throat, trying to collect himself. "So, um… w-where-" He drifted off, wondering what he was asking, because with his life flashing before his eyes a second before, he needed to reboot his brain.

Another object from the back pocket of the Prussian's pants revealed the folded up record of Dmitri Mihailov. He gave it to the human who took it slowly. "We're staking out his house."

Viktor fiddled with the paper, frowning slightly. "Good plan, but dangerous, and there's nothing we could do there." He began to get back to reality. "I doubt we would see Canada from outside his estate, and the place must be full of guards and cameras-" Something heavy landed in his lap and he lifted the record he was reading for the third time to stare at the object in growing horror. "What is that," He said in a high voice.

"A gun," Gilbert stated obviously. "Smith and Wesson M&P three-fifty-seven sig, to be exact," He grinned happily, glancing at the piece in the cop's lap with fondness even as Kozlov looked at it with weary distrust. "Beauty, huh?"

"Da," He sighed. "Didn't think I'd ever need one again; as nice as it is, we're not going to _use_ it, right?"

Gilbert shrugged, "If I get a shot at the guy who started all this, I _will_ take it." He glanced over, "You don't have to use it, kid, but I'm not gonna ask for you to jump into the fire without a little heat of your own, got me?"

Viktor smiled a bit, finding the Prussian's brutish nature a little charming at times; he had to admit, at least the guy cared. "Fine, but let's do this easy, ok? I get the feeling you're more of an act first, think later kind of guy."

Gilbert's laugh didn't deny that comment.

…oOo…

"_I wanted love to get better, I wait in line, For something I knew that I would get to keep._" The radio was blaring music in the corner of the room, and a voice sang along with it from his spot sprawled along the couch, head held up by one arm, the other holding a remote, changing channels on the muted television lackadaisically.

"Are you going to leave any time soon," Another voice asked. The first simply ignored the question, singing louder, it was his favorite part of the song anyway._  
_  
"_Yo, I love you, Yo, I love you, Yo, I love you,_" His tone was slightly off key, but he didn't care, it was passionate and he practically yelled it out dramatically and 'romantically' (in his opinion). "_And I can feel it bleeding_!"

A tennis shoe hurled toward him and connected with his chest, causing him to pause in his performance to roll his eyes. Standing from the couch and leaving the remote carelessly behind, his eyes connected with forest green, sharp and angry underneath thick eyebrows. "_Yo, I love you, Yo, I love you_," He ignored the look of unhappiness on the Britain's face and took a hand in his own, pulling the unwilling man close, his other arm sliding around his waist. "_Today is the day that I love you._"

"Francis, stop this foolishness, you look and sound stupid."

"But I'm merely singing my heart out to you, mon cher," The man smiled, twisting around with the smaller man in his arms, and despite the fact that Arthur kept sending him glaring looks, he fell into step perfectly. They danced in perfect sync, having done so many times in the past. "_Yo, I love you, Yo, I love you-_"

"Okay! Enough of that please," The Brit cried out exasperated. He stopped their dance and stepped back. "You: out. It's late."

"Oui, it is very late, but I was hoping to stay the night, Angleterre. You wouldn't make me go all by myself so dark at night."

"Of course I would, especially when your room is just down the bloody hall. Now, out."

A knock sounded at the hotel room door and England rolled his eyes, stomping to the entrance, noticing with frustration that France took the chance to plop right back on the little couch, singing along to a new song on the radio. England will find some way to kick the man out after he dealt with his guest, because there was no way in hell that frog was going to sleep in his bed with him- no matter what said Frenchman pulled.

He thought of everything he could use to accomplish this goal; he was sure he packed that taser when he found out France was going to be on the same plane as him, he had forgotten about it until now. The poor thing had never been used; he'd have to rectify that. He opened the door in a daze, images of an electrocuted France going through his head.

"Hey Iggy-" Blond hair, blue eyes, stupid grin- his imagination screeched to a halt.

"Oh _hell_ no," He tried shoving the door closed immediately, but a leather shoe wedged in the doorway kept it from shutting. Ignoring the whine from the other side, England began stomping on the appendage.

"Ow, England, that hurts! Stop," He used his strength to push the door open again, and Arthur groaned in disappointment.

"Now I have two idiots in my hotel room."

"You love us, Angleterre!"

"I just want to drink my tea, do some embroidery, and then go to bed- you two are going to ruin that, aren't you?"

There was a pause of silence before America snickered. "Embroidery, that's so girly-_Ow_! You're so mean to me! Oh, and I love this song. _You lift my spirit, take me higher, make me fly; Touch the moon up in the sky, when you are mine_. _You lift me high-_"

Arthur turned the radio off, looking blank as both France and America continued to sing in broken voices for half a verse before dropping in an embarrassed silence. "Yeah, none of you listened to me when I said I want you out, did you?"

"Hey, France, have you talked to Canada?"

Arthur muttered darkly, and France leaned his head back in thought. "Non, I don't believe I have, though I did call and leave a message in voicemail. Why?"

"Well, I just wanted to ask about his bear, and he did seem really mad at me yesterday. I wanted to invite him out for dinner but I couldn't get a hold of him."

"Maybe he wasn't in the mood for McDonalds," England stated, his voice sarcastic, because when Alfred invited you out to dinner; there was no question on where.

"Mattie doesn't mind McDonalds as much as you guys," Alfred pouted. "But really," He looked seriously forlorn now, and it got France and England's attention. "He must be really mad at me if he won't answer my calls. He _always_ answers, even if he is still angry and yells at me. He never ignores me like this…"

England frowned. "Maybe the lad is busy?"

America shrugged hopelessly. "I remember something about him helping a wildlife preserve, he's big on that kind of thing. Honestly, I didn't know he was coming here; he's never been to the military festival before-at least… I don't think so." He sighed. "Look, I just really need to talk to him, do any of you know where he's staying?"

Both nations shook their heads in a negative. "Sorry, Alfred."

"Mm, well, do you know of anyone who would?"

France shrugged, "Russia, perhaps?"

"What? Why would he know?"

"Well, I was among the first to arrive at La Russie's house. Mattieu was already there, and they seemed particularly close. I wonder…"

Arthur glared, "Do keep your wonderings to yourself. Unfortunately, the frog has a point. You might want to try asking Ivan."

America looked disturbed, "Russia… _Russia_ would know where my brother is. When his immediate _family_ does not? That- he couldn't- communist!"

England groaned and rubbed at his temples as America started a rant on Russia's morals, how it would affect his northern neighbor, and something about how all the communists are always after Canada. "Why did he think I bought Alaska? To keep that damn Russian from tainting my innocent little brother, that's why! … Well, that was only one reason, but it worked so far!"

"Okay, look, we will go ask Russia about Matthew tomorrow, it's late, time for everyone to get the hell out of my room," Arthur stated. "There's nothing we can do about it tonight."

England walked over to France, taking hold of the man's expensive blue dress shirt at the back of the neck, and yanking the man up off the couch. Dragging the Frenchman to the door, he opened the thing, threw Francis out, and shoved America through it next. "Sleep well you two," He gave his farewell, before shutting the door on the protesting nations.

_Now, cup of tea, though it is slightly cool by now, the pillow I was in the process of embroidering, bed_…

He paused as he handled the needle, looking at the blue pillow and his white thread, remembering when a little colony (the one that was _not_ causing trouble somewhere, in some way, every waking moment) would watch him silently. Matthew was always the quiet one; he found peace in nature, in relaxation, the boy could watch England sew with intense interest, something that pleased the Brit, for he knew many who teased him for such a hobby.

England knew he often overlooked the boy, and at times, he truly felt regret for being so caught up in so many things to have not given him that much attention. However, he appreciated him; his loyalty was never ending, and Britain had told him once, long ago after one too many glasses of gin, that England could have never made it through the Revolution without him. Canada had more than enough reason to side with his brother back then, and the betrayal and the hatred he had felt for his once favorite colony put tons of pressure on the kid.

Yet Matthew stayed, and England had laughed at the request of independence; the way it was proposed without threat, a casual conversation over breakfast (Hey, dad, can I be my own country? Sure, son, I think you are responsible enough for that.)

He smiled slightly, still staring at the pillow. These were the things he liked to remember about Matthew, when he could; he didn't want to think about the boy's involvement in the war. That was not the same little colony he had known… and yet it was; just as America, the one who proved himself so powerful in WWII, was the little tyke that barely stood knee height. He could recall when Alfred latched onto his arm and demanded to be swung around, and Arthur could do that with no effort at all.

His colonies grew up, and there were boundaries between them now. Still, he liked to think he was still needed by them. He hoped to still be considered somewhat as a father figure, even if they looked the same age, and were on equal grounds now.

That is why America's words concerned him so; his sons were fighting, Canada was hurt, and just because England sometimes overlooked the boy, didn't mean he cared any less for him. He looked at the time and decided it wasn't too late for one phone call.

Digging for his cell phone, he marveled at how far technology had come, and how much he had adapted. He had used parchment and ink, waited up to a month for certain messages to be exchanged; carrier pigeons, telegraphs… and now, he could send a text message, email, or voice call to anyone in under a minute.

He felt so old.

Finding his son's number, he called it, holding it up to his ear and listening to it ring. It didn't go straight to voicemail, so the phone was not off, and yet, he waited and waited, ring after ring echoing from the earpiece. Canada was not answering. He frowned, ended the call, and sighed. Tomorrow they'll search, and when he found Canada, he would lecture the boy on answering his phone, regardless of who he was ignoring.

…Thank you…

Ok! New chappie, hope you enjoy! Getting kind of difficult as everyone is added in again, but I shall persevere! For the good of the RusCan Fandom!

Also, I realize I haven't done any recommendations in a while, and I think it helped the authors whom I mentioned last time, so, here we go:

Loveless War: by _sweet-and-simple_ (actually, just go to her profile, cause she's written many good stories lately, like Summer and Sunflowers, I loved it)

We'll Marry Our Fortunes Together: by _lividlillies_ (A different take on RusCan, and quite cute)

Check out the Author _themagnificentME_

Listen to some music from _Poets of the Fall_ (particularly the song: Carnival of Rust)

And my facebook Giving In Group Page! Cause it's not getting any love, and I've been posting things lately, the location is on my profile with a direct link. Sometimes, if I want to speak my thoughts about Giving In, or have any important messages, or updates, that is where they will be. Just sayin'.

I think that's it… I feel like I'm forgetting something but, uh, maybe later.

OH! OH! OH! I remembered! I'm gonna have 1000 reviews! (faints)

This chapter was edited by _sweet-and-simple_.

The song France was singing to was: Emergency by _BT._

The other song was: Lift, by _Poets of the Fall._

_Translations: _

Mon Cher (French): My Dear

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Hetalia or any of the music quoted. I make no money so please give me some, rent needs to be paid, yo.


	24. Семь: Seven

Chapter 24: Семь: Seven

Dmitri's house was big… like, really big. From where they were parked just outside the iron gates that lined the property, Prussia could see that the man owned acres of land, and what seemed like his very own aircraft hangar. A three-story house with a stone exterior, huge porch, a breezeway to a garage which looked to hold many fancy cars from what he could see by the open door- all very luxurious.

The guy was rich alright, Prussia would admit, he would trade the house he shared with Ludwig for something like this any day, so long as it wasn't in _Russia_, the most despised place in the world (according to him).

"So," Viktor's voice caught his attention. "What are we going to do now?"

Prussia continued to observe. "Since it's dark out, we'll have a bit of our own natural cover, and this place seems fairly busy." The large workshop almost as tall as the house that worked as the aircraft hangar was farther to the right, away from the house so as to give the occupants some privacy. Overnight workers seemed to be busy inside; lights and sounds an indication that they could use to their advantage, "We could sneak in over there, and look around a bit. Getting to the house will be trickier."

They pulled the car away, drove off the small private road that led them there and through a tight space in some trees. The estate seemed to have been built in the middle of a forest, for it surrounded the place, it took them twenty minutes of driving down that road without a single break in the tree line around them. Shutting the vehicle off, with everything dark and covered, after Prussia wiped the snow free of tire tracks, the Porsche was completely hidden. Prussia led Viktor way from the road, around the Mihailov property and closer to the hangar.

Gilbert tried to get at an angle where the security cameras on top of the roof would have difficulty seeing them. If he had a scrambler device with him, he could mess with its transmission. Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on doing any high security breaking and entering when invited to go to the Spasskaya Bashnya.

"Ok, there's a big stretch of field before we get to the shed, we're going to hop the fence, stay as close to it as possible. Once we're both over, wait for my signal, then we'll run to the hangar, got me?"

Viktor nodded, and started to climb, Prussia's 'helpful' lift nearly sending him across the damn thing. Kozlov landed somewhat steady, and then watched Gilbert pull himself over with one arm and a back flip. The ease in which he had done that didn't come from an athletic figure; there had to have been an unnatural flare to that ability, and Viktor was envious. Even in his hay-day, he hadn't been that good.

"Ok. As fast as you can… Go!"

They took off, Viktor a second behind the albino, their feet making crunching sounds in the snow. Gilbert, who stretched the distance with his sprint, ended up against the hangar in less than five seconds. Viktor trailing behind a moment later, breathing heavy with the sudden exertion, "I'm getting too old for this."

Gilbert grinned, not even winded, and patted the Russian, "You're doing pretty good, gramps. It's not like you're out of shape."

Viktor nodded, following Gilbert as he walked along the wall, closer to the entrance of the aircraft holder. Back against the wall, Prussia slowly peaked around the corner, checking if the coast was clear. The workers seemed to be conducting maintenance on a fancy looking charter plane, five or so men all preoccupied with their jobs to notice Prussia and Kozlov sneaking passed them.

Stopping at the side door that would lead to the house, Gilbert looked up at the camera directly above them on the outside; it was staring intensely in the direction they had to go in order to sneak in. He found a thick wooden crate full of mechanical parts and easily rearranged it below the camera without a sound. Viktor acted as the lookout as Gilbert fiddled with some wires.

When done, he returned the crate and took off across the breezeway, stopping behind one of the many stone columns holding up the roof halfway to the house. "There's another camera," He said, pointing it out to Viktor, hiding on the opposite side. Sliding down the pillar, he took a river rock that served as a landscape decorative piece. The stone was cold in his hand, and he weighed it for a second, staring at his target, and then letting it fly.

Viktor and Prussia made it to the side of the house without problem. "They're going to know someone intruded here," Kozlov whispered, concerned.

"Nah, the camera before, I just reset it, it'll take a while for it to reboot, about a minute; nothing they'll be concerned about." Viktor pointed to the smashed one above them, a sarcastic look on his face. "That one… eh, blame it on the workers." Prussia shrugged a bit sheepishly. "Accidents happen to my brother's security system too, birds and squirrels, man. They don't like to be filmed."

Viktor stared at him blankly. "There is an expression I did not understand until now; you are so full of shit."

Prussia cackled, trying to keep his boisterous, naturally loud laughs silent. "Ja, I'm pretty good at that, aren't I?"

He moved to a window peeking through it and trying to lift it. Upon finding it locked, he ducked below it and continued on to the door. The front entrance, double doors of dark wood, stained glass, complete with a homey mat in front, gave Prussia pause, if only because it was so open. He couldn't see inside, as the stained glass blurred everything, and the foyer was a busy place.

The door was locked but Gilbert took out a knife and had it open within seconds, slowly peeking inside for anyone around. "Take off your shoes," He whispered. Viktor did as he was told, setting them off the porch where they'd be less noticeable, Gilbert doing the same. He darted in, letting the cop follow before shutting it quietly.

Socked feet made much less noise than their boots would on the wood floor, not to mention all the snow on their soles would have left behind evidence. They turned around a corner cautiously, hearing sounds from the room to the left. It was only until they reached the living room that Gilbert realized he really didn't know what he was looking for. Any evidence that this person had Canada hostage, of course, but the place looked normal. It was a huge place, well used, clean, and warm (the fireplace had a nice fire going and something good was cooking in the kitchen).

Nothing looked suspicious, and it brought a cold chill across Gilbert's skin, seeping into his veins and holding his heart in a sense of panic. What if this was not the right place? What if the scum who had Canada made up the name Dmitri Mihailov?

Then they would have sneaked into this house for nothing, every bit of information they had gathered would have meant nothing. They would be back to square one, and no closer to finding Canada.

Viktor pulled at his sleeve, and Prussia looked at him blankly, mind full of uncharacteristically pessimistic thoughts, and hoping they were wrong. The cop pointed silently to a slightly ajar door on the other side of the room; through the opening he could make out a shelf of books. An office of some kind was a great place to start a search.

As quietly as they could, they crossed the deserted living room and peeked inside the study. Gilbert stepped inside, Viktor following but staying at the doorway, keeping watch. The room was bright with a cedar kind of wood to add a rich flavor to the furniture. The deep cherry color shined with constant cleaning that Ludwig would envy and the décor had various colors of gold and black.

Taking in the job description of a nation-representative, Gilbert knew that an office told a lot about personalities. Being a Nation didn't mean you sat around on your ass all day; your bosses had you work, and when you sat in a single room all day for hundreds of years… well, it became an important part of your person.

Ivan's study was dark in color, dark wood, dark furniture, dark everything- but all had its place, some things more important than others- and it had a sense of comfort that the rest of the Russian's creepy house did not (and it was usually clean until this whole fiasco). A single chair, lots of books and scrolls, even down to a pile of local newspapers- who read those anymore? Ivan was a workaholic, he was there to work, not play, and his study was optimized for this kind of use.

Ludwig's office was much the same, but at least it had a couch and a small music player the German would indulge himself with listening to as he worked. It was clean and organized- and Gilbert was not allowed inside, because if a single pen was out of place, Ludwig would freak.

This man, however, looked to be more arrogant. Less of the objects in the room provided improvement in a work-related field. The big screen television across the desk; it wouldn't be there unless it were used, and both Russia and Germany refused to have one in their own studies so as to lessen distraction. One of the shelves seemed dedicated to holding DVDs, another strange occurrence to someone who knew the general layout of what a study should look like.

He was particularly interested in the DVDs lined along the wall, as they weren't _movies_, but blank white cases with dates and places as their labels. He looked them over, seeing the earliest date going back… _Sixteen years ago_.

"Shit," Prussia whispered. "Wish we could see what was on these." He couldn't risk the time and effort it would take to watch them on the provided TV. He chose to pick a few to take back, his gloved hands snatching a total of three, opening the cases, taking out the disks, and shoving them under the waistband of his pants.

He looked around some more, whistling slightly at the large safe behind the desk. It was set inside the wall, a digital keypad, shiny and black - full of secrets. He really wished he had came more prepared, hell if they weren't worried about being caught, he'd break it open right now; easy, quick- and they'd be out before anyone would know.

The repercussions would be on Matthew's end however, and Prussia knew he could do nothing that would get back to Canada. He ignored the safe, it wasn't an option at the moment, and leafed through the papers on the desk, none standing out to him. The drawers contained nothing interesting except for a pretty pistol, a stack of three magazines beside it.

Gilbert would have passed over it, as it was nothing unusual, the guy had a right to carry a firearm in his desk; Ludwig did, but something made him pause. He recognized that gun- not like he recognized all guns, as he was kind of obsessed with weapons in his earlier days (and that never really went away). No, this gun was unique.

TT-33, was its name; and he distinctively remembered being on the barrel end of one at the end of World War II. It was a service pistol, designed in the 1930s to replace the old Nagant edition, which came with many problems for the Soviet soldiers. It didn't fully replace them during the war, that came later, but the lucky carriers of the new weapon were officers, and Ivan himself on the front lines killed many Germans with such a model. The TT-33 was stronger, able to withstand abuse of war, had a short kickback, and a heavier build- probably one of the only reasons the model in front of him survived in such good condition.

Unfortunately, the TT-33 stopped production in the 50s. Variants of it were made in the Asian nations, and the base model made it to Hungary all the way to Egypt, it was a great make Gilbert would admit, even if it had been used against him at one point. This specific model, an original (or copied illegally) was only available on the black market, a rarity nowadays.

It was a piece of evidence that proved Mihailov was not adverse to underhanded tactics, and Prussia's suspicion increased. Dmitri Mihailov could be a simple gun fanatic, collecting old weaponry like the TT-33 could be a hobby- Gilbert knew humans did such things, but if that were the case, he doubted the man would actively use it. This gun would be in a display case, not hidden in a desk with three extra magazines and a bullet in the chamber.

"_Prussia_," Viktor whispered fiercely. "Time to go; increasing activity outside, it's too dangerous to stay here any longer."

"Ja," Gilbert closed the drawer, making sure everything was in the same place, and then met Viktor at the door, watching through the opening as two men swept passed the living room and into the foyer, stomping out the door a second later. "We can't go back the way we came, head to the kitchen."

"What about our shoes?" Kozlov asked, sneaking out of the study and keeping to the right of the hallway.

"We'll have to leave them," He could see the kitchen now, directly in front, black refrigerator and brown cabinetry. A dining room to the left, and two doors on their right; the one farthest of which had a window displaying the back yard.

Prussia heard the footsteps a second before Viktor did, and he suddenly jerked forward, wrapping an arm around the cop's waist and picking him up off the floor, twisting into the dining room across from them. He leaned against the wall, a wide-eyed human in his grip, silently freaking out.

They heard the footsteps draw closer, a door opening; it was a woman, a maid perhaps, as she hummed lowly, digging around what must have been the pantry. The door closed, and the footsteps started walking away. Gilbert relaxed slightly, thinking the crisis had been averted.

"Hey, Olivia," A deep voice was heard from the living room, and Gilbert tensed once again, hearing more heavy footsteps coming their way.

"What is it," The maid replied, stopping in the hallway, too close for Prussia's liking. The two were just on the other side of the wall.

"What's for dinner?"

"Roast beef, with a side of rice and homemade bread."

"Sneak me some," The man whispered, as if it were a conspiracy.

"I can't do that, he would get so mad if he-"

"He won't know. Please? Your cooking is so good, and you made a feast for one man- he'll never eat all of that himself!"

The woman started to cave in, "Well… true, but he does have a guest."

"Yeah, the little kid won't eat, trust me, you'll have to feed him with a tube."

Prussia narrowed his eyes, arms unconsciously squeezing the human tighter. He focused on the conversation, hoping they'd continue on the topic of the guest- it had to have been Matthew.

"Don't say that-"

"It's true, Alec pumped him full of this stuff, and the kid might as well be brain-dead. He won't eat. Come on, Olive, I can't stand another disgusting TV dinner. Please?"

"Fine, but hush, and don't tell your friends, I'm not feeding all of you," Her sentence couldn't be heard over the excited gratitude the man showered her with, and together, the two finally walked away to the kitchen.

Gilbert looked down at the cop who started to struggle as soon as the coast was clear. "I can't breathe!" Prussia let go, and he panted. "So, I get the feeling they were talking about Canada?"

"Had to," Gilbert growled, hands fisting at his side. "He's here." Fierce red eyes shifted around, thinking on where they would keep a hostage; in a bedroom upstairs?

The human touched his shoulder, his voice still in a whisper, but attempting comfort and sense. "We're out of time and we're largely outnumbered. Remember, we're here to stake out the scene, we can't help him yet."

"I know, but…"

"What we need to do is find out why this all happened in the first place," Viktor continued. "The best we can do is find out why Mihailov is against Russia."

"I don't give a shit about _Russia_, I'm here for _Canada_, not that bastard," His tone was as forceful as could be while still staying quiet, and the glare sent Viktor's way made the human cringe back. "Let's just get out of here before something else happens."

Gilbert stepped back in the hall, hearing the two strangers conversing in the kitchen, still too close for comfort - they couldn't wait any longer however. As quietly as possible he opened the back door, hoping it wouldn't squeak and sighing in relief when it didn't. Viktor slipped out and he shut the door behind him.

They remained silent as they passed the large pool and sitting area, searching everywhere for security cameras and taking out the only one that would catch them sprinting across to the fence. Fresh snow started to fall, and the inches on the ground made it hard enough to walk through, much less run in. their socked feet were instantly drenched and the pins and needles of cold immediately felt traveling through their toes.

Prussia boosted Viktor over, following him easily, and they made their way back to the car, muscles refusing to relax until they were safely in the Porsche. Gilbert cranked the heat up as high as it would go and pulled away from the estate and onto the road.

"If you help Russia, you help Canada," Kozlov said softly, frightened of the albino's temper and yet feeling the need to defend his country. "Ivan did not want this to happen, he's trying-"

"I don't really want to talk about this," Gilbert interrupted, accelerating well passed the speed limit. "Look, I understand you're part of him, the whole patriotic thing - I get it if you don't like me insulting the place you come from, but, I've known the guy for centuries and trust me, he's an asshole. A scary bastard whose done very bad things, kid. Think about it; nations are always at war, we're on the front lines- more involved than you can ever imagine. Ivan's tortured, murdered, slaughtered- he's hardly someone you can stand up for."

"But-"

"I lived with the guy for _decades_, and I have the scars to prove it, he's a selfish, dishonorable, sadistic, _sick fuck_- and you're insane if you think he's started to care about anything other than himself!"

By the end of his rant Gilbert was nearly yelling, and when he ran out of insults the vehicle was silent. Viktor couldn't think of anything to say to that really; he knew he was ignorant about the jobs nation-spirits were entitled to. He believed that what Gilbert said was true; Ivan was unpredictable and frightening in all the years Viktor had worked with him. He understood that Ivan had done horrible deeds - and yet… so did the Prussian. So did all the others.

Not only that but… "Russia probably went through the same, you know," Viktor murmured, holding his head in his hand, looking out the window, away from those burning red eyes that turned to him coldly. "At one time, it was Ivan who was tortured. He has scars," Viktor had seen them once when he was appointed his 'bodyguard.'

Gilbert grunted, not wanting to reply to that, knowing it was true.

"I mean, I'm not saying he's innocent or anything but… it had to have come from somewhere. People are not inherently evil. Those marks I've seen," He choked slightly just remembering the multitude of them. "They are _not_ simply battle scars. Someone put them there. At some point, as hard as it to believe, Ivan was the one captured, tortured, degraded. So excuse me for being a rude and ignorant human, Mr. Prussia, but whatever you went through, don't make the mistake of thinking Ivan didn't go through the same."

Prussia sighed, hands tightening on the wheel and Viktor chanced a glance, seeing the albino's posture had relaxed, eyes on the road, expression one of hesitant acceptance in the face of truth. "As for how he is now… I don't know about you, but I've rarely, if ever, seen him so shaken up. He showed up on my doorstep at one o'clock in the morning, asking me to help him with this. He cares about Canada; maybe that's hard for you to understand when you've got so many perceptions of him, but I can see it."

"I know," The man's reply was a whisper. It was hard to admit; he wanted to believe Ivan was the heartless, sadistic man he had been so long ago. Even after his soviet days, Ivan was cold and uncaring, still snapping easily at anything he could get away with breaking.

However, the anger and hurt in those mauve-red eyes when Prussia had accused him of Canada's kidnapping… it was abnormal for him to have such an intense reaction to something the Russian would normally ignore. It was even more unusual for Ivan to agree to blackmail, the fact that he had done everything Mihailov told him to do meant he wanted to keep Canada safe. "I know."

…oOo…

Ivan stared into his glass of vodka with a blank expression. The rolling emotions in his chest were anything but indifference however; rage was a dominant one, hatred and the need to break something accompanied it, like usual. Underneath all that was something he hadn't felt in a long time; anxiety, not for the fight, but for the person he was supposed to meet with. Such an emotion reminded him of fear, but it wasn't for the lackey Mihailov would send, it was for Matvey, and for himself.

The injuries seen in the picture would heal in a few days with Canada's rapid recovery rate; he knew it was stupid to freak out about the boy's state. What worried him wasn't the physical injuries, it was the psychological ones. He knew better than to think Matthew would not be touched. In ransom kidnappings, the criminals hardly ever planned on handing the hostage over after they gained what they sought.

Russia had seen it happen, both in the government and mafia sides of his nation. Politicians were taken for influence; nearly anyone could be taken for money. Others were targeted for slavery or prostitution. Their chances of getting Canada without injury to him or themselves were slim, and that… scared Ivan.

He criticized himself once more, something he always did, but he now had something else he had failed at; protecting someone he had come to respect and enjoy being around. _Matthew didn't deserve this_.

"Hello Mr. Braginski," Dark purple eyes turned to lock on a rather unassuming man sitting next to him. Brown hair, brown eyes, black suit without a tie, blazer open to show the light blue shirt underneath- he had a rather deep gash at his eyebrow, held together with stitches, and a dark bluish yellow bruise marked his right cheekbone. "Nice of you to come," He said simply.

"You are?"

"Alec Zaytsev."

"Mihailov sent you?"

"Of course, I am to tell you what you need to do. First, sign this," He pulled a folded paper from a pocket inside his blazer and set it in front of Ivan. "It's a waiver, if you die in the matches. Though, I doubt very much that you will." A pen was given to Russia as well, and he waited patiently as Ivan read it carefully, signed, and gave it back with cool indifference. "Thank you."

"Da, now tell me. What does your boss want from me and Matvey?"

"Hell if I know," Alec replied bluntly. "He's my boss, we're not friends. He pays me nicely, gives me orders, and I do them. He wanted me to kidnap a blond little kid who had a mean streak the size of a nation, I didn't ask why." Ivan would have laughed at the truth of that statement- the man had no idea. Instead, he raised an eyebrow questioningly. Alec pointed at his beat up face, "He took the gun from a colleague, clipped me in the shoulder with a bullet, and then survived the car crash afterwards. He still had enough strength to kick a guy nearly through the wall until I could sedate him."

Ivan's grip on the glass caused it to crack. "You were the one who took him."

Brown eyes narrowed. "Yes, it was my job to. I'm sorry if he is important to you."

"Tell me what your boss wants so I can get him back," Russia snarled under his breath.

"It's not that simple," Alec shook his head. "For whatever reason, my boss is interested in you. He's very serious about this-"

Ivan slammed his free hand on the table, startling the man. "Tell me where he is, where he is keeping Matvey?"

"Look, do you realize who you're messing with-"

"No, comrade, I don't think you realize who _you_ are messing with," Ivan's eyes darkened into a deep red. "I will find him; and when I do, I will kill any who were involved, slowly. If you tell me his location, you may be spared."

Alec glanced to the side, uncomfortable with the man in front of him, but then he let a tiny smile slip, "You're good. I've been in this job a long while; first people threaten, then they try to make a deal. When none of those work, they start to beg. People will do crazy things for the ones they love. If you want Matthew back, I suggest you get ready. You're going to be dragged through hell first."

Ivan said nothing, continuing to glare and wishing he could tear this man to literal pieces, hearing him scream and beg all the while. The man smiled more, ordered a drink, and then leaned casually on the bar. "So, here's the deal. Special guests are among us, they are looking for some entertainment, and a little friendly gamble. They are going to bet on you for every match until the last one. For every match, you are going to do what you normally do; get beat to hell until it looks like you will lose, then make a comeback and take the victory.

"The last one however," He paused in the instructions to throw back a shot of tequila. "You are going to fail."

"You want me to lose?"

"Yep, spectacularly, in a way nobody would expect."

Ivan gritted his teeth. "How many contestants are there?"

Alec shrugged uncaringly, "Oh, about a hundred, this tournament is pretty popular." Ivan would have to go through at least half of them. He sighed, finishing off his vodka with a heavy stomach. "Is Matthew worth it to you?"

"Da," He didn't even think about that question, if he had, perhaps he would have paused and wondered _since when_, but it was instinctual to agree and he knew he would. He had taken beatings before; none of them were for a good cause, not like this.

An announcer spoke over the crowd that had grown in the time since they had arrived, a microphone that took his voice and projected it from the speakers all around the room. "Contestants, please turn in your forms in return for a number and we will begin!"

"Already done," Alec told him, taking another piece of paper from his pocket, a simple note card with the number nineteen on it. "Remember, make it convincing, if the guests don't enjoy your little performance, it'll be Matthew who pays the price."

Ivan glared as Alec patted him on the shoulder, walking away with another glass of liquor to chat up a lady along one of the walls. The announcer called two numbers, nineteen was not one of them so Ivan remained seated, peering up at the large screen above the bar, showing two men climbing down to the pit. They observed each other, waiting for the call to begin.

Ivan quickly found that these contenders were fierce, they always were, but the fact that there were no rules loosened the players up a bit. Killing was allowed, but the people felt that unless it was a good show (meaning: lots of blood involved), the dramatics of a good fight was just as well. Many of the men were carried out of the pit, taken who knew where, and a fresh opponent took his place.

The thing that made Ivan pause was the rack full of weapons beside the announcer. The crowd was their main priority, and when the fight in the pit became boring, a set of weapons were thrown in, anything from whips, to axes, to a set of steel shuriken.

Death was unavoidable then…

"Next match up, nineteen versus sixty-three! Let's give them a hand!"

People started to clap and yell as Ivan stood, pushing through the crowd to the pit, giving his card to the man standing in front of it. He slid down the ladder and landed easily at the bottom, turning to watch his opponent do the same. He was shorter than him by three inches, built well, with dark eyes but light blond hair.

Ivan didn't show his disappointment, he instead started to pull his shirt off; it would only give the man more advantage in grabbing hold of him. He threw it to the side, scrunching his nose slightly as it landed over a pool of dry blood and something else; he wouldn't be getting it back.

The announcer was quick to begin the match, the crowd waiting none-too-patiently. The blond boy made a mad dash for Ivan, looking to throw a punch but dropping to the floor the last second, his leg sweeping out. The move was too easy for Ivan to read, despite the feint, and he jumped over the sweep, spinning as he landed, catching the surprised man with a back-kick to the chest that slid him backwards a foot.

Ivan waited for the boy to stand, dark eyes locking with his warily, he tried to cover how difficult it was to breathe from that blow, and Ivan let him recover. He judged Russia's stance before charging back in. Volleys of punches were thrown, and Ivan allowed two to hit, both raising the opponent's confidence and letting the audience think he was struggling.

An upper cut to the chin sent him back to the dirty wall, Ivan turned his head just in time for another punch to miss, hearing the knuckles connect with the brick and watching as the boy yelled in pain. The force would have broken his hand; he bent over it, eyes clenched and mouth open in silent scream, leaving himself open to attack. Ivan took it, grabbing a fistful of the blond hair, and pulling the boy closer, right into the brick wall once more.

The similar sound of flesh hitting concrete could be heard, and the next second, the boy was on the ground, blood dripping from the gash on his forehead, out cold.

The crowd laughed and cheered. Ivan climbed the ladder, retrieving his card at the top. He ignored the announcer, the men pulling out the blond from the pit, and focused on Alec smiling at him sarcastically a few steps away. He glared in response.

…oOo…

"Ah, still here I see," Dmitri chirped happily upon walking into the bedroom. Yes, Matthew was still there, naturally, as he found he still couldn't move, no matter how hard he tried. Whatever was dripping into the IV was potent and Matthew would be impressed in the advances of pharmaceutics had he not been under the influence of it.

As a being with inhuman characteristics, his body was supposed to have a certain immunity to drugs. That ability only went so far though, and a neural drug that would paralyze him worked from the brain, something he couldn't exactly shake off - the fact that the narcotic replenished itself at a steady pace didn't help his body fight the effects either.

Still, Matthew never gave up in trying. In the time he had been in the room alone, he focused on each part of this body individually. His arm or a leg; then he moved to smaller targets; fingers and toes. Nothing so much as twitched despite his commands.

He spent another hour looking around the room, his sight limited by the fact that his head couldn't turn. In fact, a pillow was the only thing keeping it straight now; otherwise, the lack of muscle strength would just cause it to flop to the side. Oh, how he _hated_ this - this feeling of uselessness. Unmoving, weak, and pathetic - it was not how a nation should behave, he was _Canada_, and fuck it if he wasn't playing a good damsel in distress.

He wished he could at least speak - he'd feel a lot better if he could scream out all the curses and insults running through his head at the moment. Especially when the man who caused all this had the gall to stride on in and make sarcastic comments about his position… _bastard_.

"And still so fiery, I like that, it's very cute on someone as little as you."

_Choke on your words! Choke!_

"I have something very special for you, little bird," He said, sitting on the bed beside him. A hand came up to brush that one errant strand of hair back behind the blonde's ear. Matthew glared harder.

The man chuckled as the stubborn piece of blond refused to be tamed. He turned to the bedside table, picking up a remote that could only belong to the television mounted on the wall. "Ivan is to perform a great show for us tonight!"

Matthew listened attentively as the man fiddled with the device, the TV came to life in a bright flash of static and snow, two seconds later a picture came to life. Narrowing his amethyst eyes to focus on the image, he made out a crowd of people. They seemed rambunctious, yelling and laughing- the room, wherever it was, seemed packed, but there was a clear space, a perfect circle in the middle of it.

It was a pit, he noticed with dread building in his chest.

A volume rocker at the bottom of the screen slid up, and he could hear unrecognized voices screaming in either happiness or frustration. "We should see how things go, yes?" Mihailov smiled down to Matthew, "Cheer for him. He will need it."

Matthew didn't think so; Ivan could wipe the floor with every single one of those petty fools acting all tough. Russia certainly didn't need a cheerleader - he would have laughed at the mere thought if he could. He watched a match or two, feeling extremely bored with everything and frustrated at the fact that Mihailov was still sitting on the edge of his bed; a hand placed on his chest, thumb rubbing back and forth absently.

It sickened him; he wanted the man far away from him; and there was a chair next to the bed, perfectly available!

"There he is!"

Matthew's gaze shifted back to the television and his eyes widened upon seeing the familiar form of Ivan. There was something about seeing the Russian in that pit- standing strong, face blank and determined, hands coming up to unbutton his brown shirt. It sent a multitude of mixed feelings in Matthew; he was suddenly so relieved. Seeing Ivan's strength gave him some of his own, and knowing that Russia was ok settled that deep panic that seemed to resurface from his situation.

Yet, other feelings; fear, because Ivan was essentially _fighting_ again, when the last image of the man doing so was still so fresh. He hadn't had time to check the man's cracked ribs since he bandaged him - the wounds were three days old, probably healed by now, but that didn't soothe Matthew's concern.

He watched Ivan's face closely, eyes brushing across the taunt body as the shirt was thrown to the side, looking for injury. Nothing was out of place; mauve eyes softened in relief. Mihailov hummed and Canada was once more uncomfortable under the man's scrutiny. "How close are you to him, I wonder? You care for him very much, it's endearing; like an angel protecting the devil."

The hand on his chest dragged down to his navel then back up again. "Although, now the situation is reversed; the devil will have to fight if he wants his angel back."

Matthew shivered in disgust.

"Are you lovers?"

Canada stared at the screen, watching Ivan with unwavering eyes. He didn't care what the man thought they were, he wasn't concerned with the terminology of their relationship, all he knew was that Ivan was there - _fighting for him_.

He hadn't been forgotten or left behind. Ivan remembered him - cared about him enough to go along with this bastard's blackmail - it was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

Mihailov's amused laugh was ignored but the hand on his cheek earned a glare from glassy amethyst eyes. "How beautiful," The laugh trailed off into a more awed look. "Your eyes are amazing, you know. I wish you didn't hold so much scorn for me, if you looked at me like you look at _him_, I may be more inclined to go easy on you both."

Matthew turned his eyes away, wishing he could turn his head and get out of the grip. Dmitri smiled serenely; thumb stroking the Canadian's cheek, ignoring the dark bruise on the pale skin. "You will come around, Ангел."

He stood, something Matthew was thankful for, and then he started releasing the cuffs on his wrists. Canada would have joyously celebrated this freedom by breaking this man's skull in. However, bound to the bed or not, it made no difference to his lame body. Matthew had no idea what the Russian was doing, but he shivered as an arm slithered around his shoulders, lifting him up, and the bed creaked slightly as Dmitri settled behind him.

Matthew was placed in his lap, and he closed his eyes, cheeks tinted red in rage and embarrassment. "There, now we can watch the show comfortably, yes?"

_Fuck you_. The only thing Matthew wanted to do was crawl in a deep dark hole where nobody would find him. He wanted out of here; he wanted Ivan, or Alfred. He swore he would do better to tolerate his big brother's heroic rants - if he just _walked through that door _and_ saved him_.

Seconds passed, Dmitri's hand caressing his golden hair, there was no heroic savior coming to his rescue, and Canada's heart plummeted. His eyes watered again and he harshly scolded himself for showing weakness. Whether he was saved or not, Matthew refused to show tears. He looked back to the screen, watching Ivan with longing, pleading for the man to stay uninjured and yet hoping the Russian wouldn't give up on him.

He would have smirked in victory if he could; there was no use in worrying - Ivan's control over the first match raised his confidence, and the man who foolishly thought he could win was pulled out of the pit. The fight didn't last a minute.

"Boring," Mihailov commented, lighting a cigar thoughtfully, the hand returning to brush the Canadian's hair.

Matthew glared, angry at his lackadaisical insult to Russia, and uncomfortable that the man was touching his hair (or touching him at all, really). It wasn't noticeable or hard to contain, but it stirred something in his belly, a heat that Matthew would much rather jump off a cliff rather than feel at the moment.

He liked his hair touched, it sent tingles through his scalp, down his spine, and to his groin; it was a fetish of his, no matter how strange. Matthew didn't think it was so abnormal to like his hair played with, and he capitalized on it during times of passion. He could dream of the times when someone else would thread his or her fingers through it, tugging, gripping.

This wasn't what he imagined though. In all his erotic dreams he never thought his own hair could be used against him - the gentleness in which Dmitri brushed the strands were similar to a lover, something Matthew had never experienced but always wished for. This disturbed him though; this act of love quite literally, was freaking him out. The first time he met Dmitri, admittedly, it was only a few hours ago, he seemed cruel- all about getting back at Ivan for _something_, Matthew didn't know what. He laughed at Matthew's misfortune, perversely touching him, and seeming like a man who could care less for the Canadian's health while he was there.

However, like a schizophrenic, Mihailov's personality seemed to do a complete reverse. He was petting Matthew, asking if he was comfortable, shifting the pillow under his head, and massaging his wrists, claiming the cuffs cut off the circulation. The only time those caressing hands left the blonde's body, was to smoke- the somewhat sweet sent filled the room after a while. It was familiar, like a vanilla or coconut- and looked expensive.

_Cuba would know the kind_, Matthew thought, remembering the island nation who loved the elegantly rolled cigars. His eyes unfocused as he zoned out, thinking about everyone and wondering who knew he was missing. Did Ivan tell Ukraine? He actually hoped the Russian didn't, he cared too much for Katyusha, and he knew her concern for him would tear her apart. Still, she was one of his best friends…

"He's back," Mihailov chirped, leaning over the blond, returning the Canadian to the present. Smoke was blown into his face, and the Russian chuckled. "Cute."

Canada glared at him, feeling his lungs suffer with the potent air recycling in his system. Amethyst eyes returned to the television, brightening once more when he saw Ivan again. This time, his opponent wasn't overly confident, and yet, he had the muscles and stood in a competent stance.

The match was called, and Ivan made the first move; a punch meant to test the waters. It was blocked smoothly, and for a moment, it looked to be a traditional boxing match. They circled around each other, hands up for defense, a punch, or kick thrown, but efficiently thwarted from connecting.

Suddenly, Ivan caught a sidekick with one arm, holding the man by the ankle. The palm of his other hand flashed out, and the man twisted just in time to avoid a direct hit to his knee. If Ivan's blow had landed, his leg would have been useless, either for future fights, or for the rest of his life depending on the damage.

"There is not enough effort, don't you think?" Dmitri mumbled as he messed with his phone, half-heartedly watching the match on the television, not nearly as interested as Matthew. The sound of buttons being pushed caught the Canadian's attention, as the sounds were right by his ear. As if sensing his curiosity, Mihailov smiled down at him charmingly. "Just texting an associate of mine. I want this show to be as interesting as possible for my investors. It has to go perfectly!"

Canada rolled his eyes, watching the TV diligently; wanting to smile as Ivan pulled a standard Sambo move he had begun to teach Matthew - the opponent hit the concrete ground hard. He figured it would be over now; the man was down, Ivan towered over his body, in perfect position to finish him off and end his match.

But then something flew into the pit, crossing right in front of Russia, causing him to step away from the downed form of his adversary. Matthew narrowed his eyes. It was enough time for Ivan's opponent to recover, and the first thing he did was dash for the object on the floor.

Eyes widened in shock and Mihailov laughed behind him, "A sword? Alec, you could have been more original!" Ivan was more cautious now; the man across from him handled the broad sword easily, obviously having experience with wielding one.

He lunged, sharpened steel poised to stab the Russian, Ivan spun, letting the sword pass and stepping into the man's defense, an uppercut to the abdomen and the man was thrown back a short ways, the sword flashing across in an instinctual defense.

Ivan backed off, watching the man regain his breath, sword held up with both hands, point directed at Russia's head. Mihailov started texting again, humming in what sounded like slight disappointment.

Dodging another sword thrust, Ivan waited for the perfect moment. A horizontal strike- Ivan ducked, pushing forward and slamming his shoulder into the man, taking them down to the floor. The sword dropped, and the two men grappled, Ivan rising up to connect a fist to the man's jaw. He got a few punches to his gut for the trouble, but twisted as he was, with the advantage of having more weight, he easily got in more damage. Until, with a final punch, the man's struggle ceased, and Russia untangled himself from limp limbs.

The crowd roared, but Ivan didn't care, instead, he seemed to be staring rather unhappily at someone just above the pit. The camera zoomed away, allowing the medics to drag away the loser, and focusing on the next two opponents.

Matches were announced, strangers Matthew didn't care about watching after that, passed by boringly. Mihailov smoked his cigars, spoke on the phone about some kind of business (nothing suspicious Matthew found, it was actually about some kind of machinery for a plane), and the hand petted his hair, caressed his cheek, and at times, smoothed down the pale chest.

Canada tried to ignore it all, watching the television uninterestedly, hoping to see Ivan once more. It was an hour later and still nothing, when Mihailov's cell phone rang again, and the man answered with a happy attitude. "Alec, yes, how are things?"

Matthew perked at the name, was it about Ivan? Then they switched from English to Russian and Canada saw no point in trying to scramble what little vocabulary he had learned to understand. _What happened to my book anyway_?

He was sure he had it with him. Oh no… he just remembered, he was wearing his red hoodie to the Spasskaya Bashnya. Now he really wanted to cry- that was his favorite jacket! The one with the white maple leaf- now it was stained with his blood, ripped, and who knew where the bastards put it when they took his clothes!

Now he was struggling with depression, above all things. _Damn it_…

"No," A loud yell startled him, and his eyes refocused on Dmitri above him. In the short time he had let his mind wonder, (it was all he could do, as he was immobile, hell if he attempted to tame his wild thoughts) his kidnapper had gone from cheerful to a state of deep irritation. His voice lowered into a threatening whisper, "I won't settle for his disobedience."

Mihailov growled, looking down at Matthew, golden eyes darkened and Canada wanted to shy away from the foreshadowing expression. He turned to the device in hand, pressing the speakerphone button, and Matthew could suddenly hear a muffled crescendo of voices- as if he was at the club himself. A clear voice was distinct however, the one named Alec. "He claims he is doing what you wanted, sir."

"I want more blood!" He snarled. Taking his cigar from the tray on the bedside table, a place he had been tossing his ashes throughout his time there, he lifted it to his mouth, taking a short inhale of poison.

"He refuses to permanently disable the people here- he won't kill anyone."

"Fine," He said, suddenly very calm as he shifted. Matthew watched him, unsettled as those gold eyes locked on his own; with the radiant fury in the Russian, they seemed to glow. Matthew felt a touch of fear- not knowing what this meant for him…

And then he was only able to gasp as the burning end of the rolled tobacco touched his cheek.

A sizzle- the sound of his own skin burning, the sharp sting that grew into an unbearable stab of pain- he _couldn't move_! He tried to yell, tried jerking away- his skin was on fire, literally, and yet his muscles did _nothing_. His head remained where it was, and the only thing that gave away the pain he felt were his eyes. They closed tight, tears gathering. His chest heaved, it was hard to breathe- his heart was beating faster- he was panicking- but his lungs, debilitated from the neural drug in his system, couldn't keep up.

The diaphragm couldn't move any faster- it was one of the reasons patients had to be hooked up to a breathing machine when in a paralysis, the drug worked too well.

The cigar was removed, and yet the wound persisted, the sickening sound of his skin burning, the smell- thick, putrid, like burned rubber and rotting carcass. Mihailov laughed. "Damn, I ruined that pretty little face, now, didn't I? Hold on…" A shutter sound, as if there was a camera, and then Dmitri spoke into the phone. "I sent him something, describe his expression for me."

Moments later, the Russian laughed gleefully. "Da, let me speak with him." He looked down to Matthew, amusement in his eyes.

"I'm doing what you said!" _Ivan_! Matthew recognized the voice, even if it sounded stressed. "You wanted me to fight, I did! I am making it interesting! That's what you wanted!"

"No, Ivan," Mihailov chided, "I want blood to stain that pit, understand me?" The cigar came closer to Matthew's cheek, the burn mark a deep red, exposing muscle and bleeding sluggishly, burnt skin, brown and black, surrounded it, an inch in diameter. "I'm changing the rules a bit," He stated, waving the burning cigar threateningly close from his nose, to his chin, to his neck. "In the next fight, you're both going to get a weapon thrown in. You're going to do fine for a bit- but then you slip, he's too fast for you… Understand where I'm going with this yet?"

A feral snarl was his reply. "Fine I'll-"

"That's not all," Mihailov interrupted. "You stop when I tell you to. You get thrown around until I say when. If you spill enough blood for me, I will try not to cover your little boyfriend with any more burn scars. Do we understand each other?"

"Da…"

"I will be relaying my commands to Alec, have fun."

Dmitri flipped the phone shut, smiling once more. "That wasn't so hard was it?" Golden eyes settled on Matthew, they were far less threatening now, but Matthew didn't see. "I am sorry to have treated you so poorly, Ангел. It must have hurt terribly."

Canada kept his eyes shut, but it was not out of pain anymore- the nerves in his skin tissue must have died, all he could feel was numbness. He didn't want to look at the man leaning over him- didn't want to think of what Ivan would have to endure now because of him. Wasn't it enough? The man had said _fight_, and that's what Ivan did- he took a few punches, he let his opponents and the crowd think he could lose- but apparently, it _wasn't enough_.

How much damage did Ivan have to take?

Over the course of ten minutes, Mihailov talked to Matthew in soothing voices, as if calming the Canadian from some kind of hysteria. He ran fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his face. He called on some kind of guard outside the room, and the man hurried to get a bottle of antiseptic and a washcloth. Dmitri was gentle with cleaning the burn, talking in low tones all the while. "It looks bad, maybe I shouldn't have pushed so hard, and in such a delicate place, too - your beautiful face! It distracts from your eyes…"

Canada didn't care to pay attention; the man was more mumbling to himself than anything, looking sympathetic, an emotion Matthew didn't believe he felt at all. Mauve eyes continued to stare at the television, waiting with dread for Ivan to show up once more- the part of him that had been so happy to know the man would go through so much for him, was not so enthusiastic now. Being cared for was one thing; but he didn't want to see Russia get hurt on his behalf.

It didn't seem like he had much choice however, and he didn't have the courage to look away from it all - Ivan's next match came too soon, and the man looked more stressed than before as the opposing man judged him wearily from the other side of the pit. Matthew noticed that something had changed in the Russian; his stance was lack, even when the announcer shouted out for them to begin.

Ivan dodged a punch, but it was slow, the opponent was able to compensate for his miss. Three more moves, all in fluid motion, and Russia was thrown to the ground with an elbow to the face. Once more, the fight was taken to the concrete; the men wrestled slightly, punches being thrown. Ivan could have pushed the fighter off him had he wanted, Matthew knew this.

Instead, he pulled his arms up in a half-assed protection of his face, taking the blows to his head and abdomen. The man stood, striking out with a kick that landed in Ivan's side, and then he turned to the crowd above, arms up in victory, causing them to roar louder.

Mihailov chuckled, "So weak, Ivan." He took his phone from the table. "I suppose I can have the weapons sent out to help him. He's doing so poorly without them." Matthew's slight twitch of the eyes betrayed how angry he felt at that comment.

In the pit, Ivan was slowly standing, sporting a busted lip, which he wiped at with the back of his hand as he leaned against the brick wall behind him. He glanced up as two objects were tossed into the ring, one landing right at his feet. Russia picked it up, studying the long steel staff with approval; he liked blunt objects, and Matthew thought he gained a bit more energy with the weapon in his hands.

The other object however… Matthew was concerned when the other man held up a wicked flail; a short steel bar, ball and chain connected at the end. _Shit_, amethyst eyes turned to Dmitri- the man had ordered Ivan to get hit, to spill blood but- a steel ball adorned with _spikes_? That would break bone!

Mihailov glanced down, catching the boy's stare, and smiled sweetly. "Da, this makes things much more interesting, don't you agree?"

_No_, Matthew's eyes traveled from the match and back to Mihailov. _Please…_

Dmitri continued to look happy, even as his fingers brushed Matthew's hair, the cell phone in his other hand, waiting patiently to be used.

Russia jumped to the side, avoiding a direct hit in the face; his staff swung, connecting with the man's back legs. Both opponents stood on opposite sides of the pit, only ten feet across, weapons at the ready; the flail was set in a constant spinning motion by its wielder. Russia moved first, dashing forward, the flail came to intercept him, and Ivan tipped back, sliding with his initial momentum, twisting underneath the swing and kicking out the opponent's legs. The man fell, like planned, but from the ground, the flail still spun on its chain, and then his opponent did something nobody expected. He threw his weapon as hard as he could.

Ivan had begun to stand after his slide, turning just in time to see the steel flying towards him. A second too late- the spiked sphere connected. Matthew swore he could hear the loud _crack_ as the flail collided with the Russian's head.

Matthew started panicking, watching the Russian fall, everything going silent as the camera zoomed in. A red pool of blood seeped from under the collapsed body. "Oh," Dmitri let out a cheer. "He didn't even see that coming!"

Tears slipped down pale cheeks, Canada didn't notice; he was too consumed with the image of Ivan lying on that dirty concrete, bleeding profusely. The crowd was going crazy, the opponent who threw the flail stood easily, watching the Russian on the floor wearily. "Is he unconscious?" Dmitri wondered.

Seconds passed - seconds in which Matthew couldn't breathe, a lump lodged in his throat, chest constricted with fear. He didn't know what to think; should he be _happy_ if Ivan was knocked out? After all, the fighting would stop, he would be dragged out of the pit, set to recover - he would recover, such a blow wouldn't _kill _him (even if it did, he'd heal anyway). Canada didn't know; but he wanted to be there - he wanted to touch the Russian, look him over with his own eyes.

He wanted Ivan to move, to be sure the man was ok - there was so much blood.

An arm dragged across the concrete, settling in a puddle of his own blood, Ivan pushed himself up slowly. Blood dripped, it covered him, and as he hesitantly stood, supporting himself with the wall beside him, light shined on his face. Canada flinched at the sight - eyes tinted red, holding a venomous look of a murderer.

One second was all it took for Ivan to cross the distance of the pit, slamming a punch into his adversary's shocked face. Then the man's back met the wall in one forceful shove, mouth open in a silent scream as a hand went around his throat, squeezing tighter despite the desperate struggles of the human. The crowd roared, Mihailov laughed happily, and Russia waited, watching as the man's fight against him grew weak, until the human slumped.

Ivan threw him to the ground, and then turned to the ladder as the match was called. Before the camera changed views, red eyes looked up, directly into the lens, and Matthew's weak heart jumped in his chest, the tears running down his cheeks renewed.

…oOo…

From that moment on, things changed in Ivan, his focus remained on the fights - trying to enjoy them as he once had, unfortunately that didn't bode well for his opponents. He carried on with the 'rules' of interest, letting himself get hurt, each consecutive match, he gained some kind of new injury. A deep gash from another sword encounter, a fractured arm courtesy of a sledge hammer - they hurt, sure, but nothing bothered him as much as the head injury.

It messed with his vision; blurred the faces of those in the room, and there were times where his punches would miss their targets, not because the human was fast or skilled, but because his hand-eye coordination was failing him. Depth perception seemed off, and his head pounded, blood rushing in his ears - he knew he was in bad shape.

At some moments he even forgot why he was in this pit, fighting the man across from him - what wrong did this human do? Why was Ivan about to beat his face in? He couldn't recall.

Other times, he would see the face of Matthew Williams as clear as day, either laughing excitedly, or placed on a bed, bleeding and crying. Boiling rage would spill from his chest and his movements would double in speed, the force with which he attacked was brutal, and he felt satisfaction from seeing the competitor fall.

In between fights, Ivan would stand at the bar, downing glasses of vodka by himself, watching the man named Alec with a cool, but frightening expression. There was nothing left to say to each other after the call with Mihailov. Alec was the one choosing weaponry; he was the one who relayed the message of _when_ Ivan could start hitting back.

Something in his chest squeezed and he brought a hand to his breast, keeping his heart in its place lest it fall from the ribcage. He didn't have time to think about his conflicted feelings; he only knew that this was necessary. The reasons could be unclear at times, his thoughts fuzzy, but something kept him going, something strong that wouldn't let him quit.

"_Rus," A hand lifted his chin, eyes locking on a dark brown, almost black. A thumb stroked his dirty cheek, stained with dirt, sweat, and tears. "Prove to me your strength."_

"_I-I can't-"_

"_You can," The grip tightened. "You are mine, and I refuse to own such a weakling. You will do this," The voice sent fear down the Russian's spine, the threat of his punishment should he _not_ do what this man expected of him, instilling terror. _

"I am not weak," Ivan whispered to himself, repeating the mantra, using it against his body that had started to feel faint. His muscles throbbed, bruises littered his body, and wounds that weren't bothered to be cleaned or bandaged continued to bleed. He lost a lot of blood already, and he was beginning to feel the effects.

The mantra, powered by his will and a fear he had long known - the fear of giving up, showing weakness - kept him going. His number was called once more and he finished his vodka, leaving the glass on the counter and making his way back to the pit. "The last match of the night, everyone! Who will win?"

Something about those words made him hesitate at the ladder - the last match… what was supposed to happen here? Wasn't he ordered to lose?

He went through the motions purely on instinct, watching Alec out of his peripheral vision, waiting for a signal. He avoided a punch sluggishly, his body not as fast or fresh- the man in front of him had gone through his own battles. They were the last contestants, both beaten and bloody.

It took a long time before the weapons were thrown in, as weak as they were, their speed, and strength greatly hindered, it made things more interesting to the crowd above. Their chosen weapons were a joke; the black haired man across from him gained a spear, Ivan picked up a hatchet.

Ivan's mind kept stuttering: his body would move on its own, self-preserving instincts the only thing that kept him alive. His limbs were so heavy, the hand-held axe weighed a ton as he gave a horizontal slash, putting distance between him and the man. From the top of the pit, Alec raised his hand, Russia's eyes steeled and yet his entire body seemed to be relieved.

It was over; he didn't have to fight anymore. His back hit the wall, hatchet falling from his hand as his opponent lunged, the spear poised for a stab- it hit its mark. Ivan bent over, a yell tearing from his throat as the steel point ripped through his abdomen, just under his ribs.

He let himself slide down, until he was sitting on the cold concrete as if he was casually taking a rest. The announcer asked if he wanted to continue, as he hadn't moved- he was still conscious, he could continue had he wanted, although, such a debilitating blow would eventually kill him. He tapped out. The crowd cheered.

Two men jumped down into the pit. The spear was yanked from his body without care, thrown to the side - it earned a strangled gargle in response. They picked him up, one on each side and took him up the ladder.

"Good work, Ivan. Mihailov is very proud," Ivan couldn't see Alec; he was too busy trying to breathe while slung over a medics shoulder. "He will call you tomorrow, or perhaps the next day - we want to give you time to recover of course. Rest well!"

Russia groaned in response, wincing as every step the man who carried him took jarred his injuries. He deftly wondered where the medic was going to take him; he hadn't paid attention to where the wounded were taken. A door was opened; fresh air was breathed in, slightly easier than inside the stuffy club, it was also much quieter… eerily silent in comparison actually.

Ivan wondered if he had gone deaf - or was unconscious by now. Perhaps this was a dream.

A shifting was heard, and he was moved a little too harshly; he protested in the form of a moan, and then a cough that shook his entire frame. There was a curse, a word he had heard many times, not Russian or English, but _German_. Ivan had to think- what was a German doing here?

"Ivan! I'm going to look at your injuries. I need you to stay awake, ja?"

He mumbled a "da," but it didn't come out too strong or convincing. He felt a hand at his forehead and moved away from the touch weakly, his eyelid was forced open, and he whined at the treatment.

"I'm going to take you back home - come on."

He was picked up again, choking as his stomach flipped; he idly wondered if his intestines were spilling out onto the floor yet - his delusional mind coming up with such an image and he wanted to laugh at it. He had seen his own heart, why not look at his intestinal track, too - he could tie it in a knot and…

He groaned in pain as he was shifted again, settled down on something hard. He tensed, trying to keep any moments to a minimum, but his abdomen protested those muscles being used, it only caused him more pain. "It's ok, Russia. I'm taking you home, you'll be treated there!"

A slam, what sounded like a car door, and then a vehicle starting? Ivan mumbled softly, eyes tightly closed, finding he couldn't see anything clearly anyway. "Matvey… 'm sorry."

He was unconscious before the white SUV could speed out of the parking lot, a panicked Germany glancing back at Ivan with fear in his bright eyes.

…Thank You…

Rating change… the above content is somewhat graphic, and it will probably get worse. Sorry everyone!

I feel so cruel. D:

**Thank you for over 1,000 reviews!** Extra length chapter ;)

You're all so awesome.

_Translations_:

Ангел (Russian): Angel

_Disclaimer_: I don't own the original story (Axis Powers Hetalia)… I am their mistress!


	25. Six: Six

Chapter 25: Six: Six

Gilbert smirked, lazing about on the couch he had stretched out upon, ruby eyes roaming the figures across from him. He and the human had returned to the Russian mansion about two hours ago, and since then it had been somewhat relaxing. Viktor wanted them to wait for Ivan and Ludwig before they watched what was on the DVDs, and Prussia huffed, but agreed nonetheless.

Now they were playing cards, a game suggested by Ukraine when she heard Gilbert complain about being bored. He thought poker or blackjack would be entertaining; but no, Italy happily asked in that adorable voice if they could play _Go Fish_…

How exciting.

"Give me your threes!" He cackled as the human beside him grumbled, taking cards from his hand and giving them to the smug Prussian. Whether it was a game he could benefit from or not, he still took a bit of pleasure in the competition.

He looked to the figures across from him, smiling a little wider. Ukraine and Italy were huddled up on the loveseat, giggling and talking about sissy things; Gilbert didn't care to listen to their conversation, but he was struck by the cute pair the two made. Ukraine was hot, Prussia would admit that easily (unless Russia was around, then he'd keep that comment to himself); she had a pretty face, big eyes, nice straight hair, and that headband threw in a cute-factor.

And, of course, the boobs… That counted for something- they had to be, like, double Ds.

Next to her was Italy, and despite the fact that Feliciano was a boy, he was cute and sexy like any girl would be. He had a small build, and was on the short side in terms of height, but his smile was radiant, his eyes bright, and his positive attitude was contagious.

"So," he drawled out, catching the attention of the other two nations. "Winner of this round gets to share a bed with the awesome me tonight."

Ukraine laughed. "What makes you so sure, Mr. Prussia?"

"I'm already sharing with Doitsu, though…"

Prussia gasped dramatically. "Both of you, so cruelly making me sleep on a couch, all alone, cold, without love-"

Viktor started to laugh. "Incorrigible."

Gilbert leaned over to drape himself over the human, pretending to cry. "These chicks just don't understand my awesomeness any more. You should have seen me in my empire days! A hot babe in my bed every night-"

"Brother Prussia is lying, Ve!"

"I am not, twerp!" He leapt across the table, catching Italy in a headlock and ruffling his hair; the boy yelped, yelling out apologies, but it was all in good fun, and the boy laughed afterwards.

Loud music interrupted the playful banter: some kind of rock song with German lyrics that clued them in to the fact that it was Prussia's. He rolled his eyes, flopping across Italy and Ukraine's laps, groaning in dismay as he answered the phone call. "West, I'm behaving, I swear."

The two giggled at his antics and Viktor shook his head, eyes on the ceiling as if asking the heavens _why_. Gilbert grinned at him, throwing him a little wink. _Cause I'm awesome_. "Preußen," The grin fell a bit, and he paid more attention to the voice on the other end of the phone; it sounded strange, almost like his brother was-"I want you to get things ready, I'm coming in with a badly injured Russia. He'll need emergency care-"

"What?" Gilbert asked. "Wait… what?"

"Gilbert! Listen to me!" Prussia straightened, pushing away from the two curious nations who were beginning to look at him strangely. Gilbert threw them a tight smile and walked around the coffee table, heading into the kitchen where they couldn't listen in on the conversation. "I need you to set up a room; find a first aid kit, needle and thread. I need bandages, peroxide- set me up a mini operating room, verstanden?"

"Ja…"

"Get Italy and Ukraine out; I don't want them seeing this."

"Okay. Sure, I'll do that."

"Be there in ten minutes." The call ended with a hurried click and Gilbert slowly blinked at the device in his hand. One of the shortest conversations he's ever had with his brother, and Ludwig wasn't much of a talker. He didn't understand the situation, but he knew his sibling was panicking for whatever reason, and when that happened, Gilbert simply went with it. Thinking of an excuse for the two nations in the living room, he returned to the group, trying to look casual.

"Hey, West said he'll be a little longer, and he wants you to go to bed, Feli. No need for you to wait up for him."

"Okay!" The boy was easy enough to sway, and he jumped up, claiming he was going to get ready.

Gilbert turned to Ukraine next. "You should do the same, huh? Your brother wouldn't want you to stay up late, either."

"Yes, I suppose." She stood, smiling at the two men remaining. "Thank you for the game, it was fun!"

Then, she too made her way upstairs, calling out a "Sleep well!" behind her.

With the two out of sight, Gilbert grabbed Viktor and pulled him across the living room, down the hall, and burst into the master bedroom. The human sputtered behind him. "What are you doing?"

"Russia is injured, West is on his way; we need to cover the bed with something."

Kozlov took a full minute to sort that sentence out; after all, Prussia had just stated an impossibility and an order in one sentence as if he was talking about the weather. "O-okay, why are we covering the bed?"

"So the mattress isn't stained with his own blood," Prussia said obviously. "Keep up, kid. Let's find the things we need…"

Prussia hadn't believed Ivan's wounds were so severe; Germany's voice sounded on the edge of panic, but in the end, Gilbert had just huffed and wondered _What? Little Russia fell and scraped his knee?_

When West walked in with a dead looking Russia, Gilbert's thoughts came to an abrupt stop, and from then on, it was a mad dash and a messed up game of doctor. The human had nearly fainted twice and Prussia was pretty sure Ivan had died on the 'operating table.'

Ludwig was no doctor, but he had known what to do, even without the help of modern technology. They had stitched the Russian up, repairing the damage done to his insides as much as possible. Despite how much blood and damage the puncture wound on his stomach caused, Germany had the most trouble with the head injury.

Ludwig claimed Ivan's skull was fractured, and he had to pick the broken shards of bone from the gash before Russia's healing factor sealed them within his head. A nation's ability to heal to the point of regeneration could come with consequences. The body made mistakes; it healed itself regardless of whether the bone was set correctly. If left alone, Ivan's body would heal, leaving the broken skull fragments lodged inside, and it wouldn't be very fun if they had to go back in to fish them out.

It was difficult for Ludwig to go in with a set of sterile tweezers, delicately extracting the loose pieces, especially when Ivan was suffering from "intracranial hemorrhage" (Germany's fancy way of saying "bleeding from the brain"). There was nothing he could do about that; none of them were brain surgeons, but even Prussia had to admit, it scared him to see Russia go into convulsions.

Like, violent shaking, epileptic seizure, foaming at the mouth convulsions.

Yeah, Prussia was a bit freaked out; even if it was nothing he hadn't seen before, one couldn't get _used_ to death or completely disregard suffering, no matter how much training he'd been through. He certainly never saw Russia in such a position, and to know that this was from a stupid _tournament_, involving _humans_ and not Nations…

He didn't know what to think. He'd never seen so much damage outside of war-times; in such a case, Ivan would have received these types of injuries on the front line, and that would have been acceptable. This was _wrong_; humans were never supposed to have so much control over their nation, nobody except their bosses could hurt them so. And yet, _Dmitri Mihailov_, not only a human, but also Russia's own civilian, did this to him.

Had Gilbert not known the reason, he'd sneer at the deplorable nation before him; however, as difficult as it was to explain… he _respected_ Ivan for it.

He did it for Matthew.

Knowing the Russian cared so much, he started to feel guilty for blaming him earlier. There was no doubt Ivan truly wanted to save Canada, not after this. So much courage, passion, strength; in order to take so much damage for someone Prussia hadn't even thought he had been close to- it was honorable.

… Gilbert still hated him.

But his vision of the Russian's motives changed, and he felt relieved; Matthew was going to be saved, that was for sure. Ivan wasn't messing around, and Gilbert would happily stand by his side, watching that blunt silver pipe as it was used on someone other than him for once- and using a few of his own medieval torturing methods on the guy as well.

A familiar sadistic grin crossed his features as he sat in one of the overstuffed chairs beside Ivan's bed. He had been instructed to watch over the Russian in case he went into any more seizures, but so far, everything was quiet. The house was dark and he was the only occupant still awake in the mansion; he didn't see the point, but his mind was racing too fast for him to sleep anyway.

It was only when he heard a creak that he stopped his wild (and x-rated) thoughts on performing torture techniques. He turned to the bedroom door, watching it open slowly, narrowing his eyes as a thin form stepped through; snow white hair, short black dress, high heeled shoes that made little sound.

Belarus… didn't Ivan banish her from his house? He heard something about that- whatever, not his problem.

She shut the door quietly behind her, striding into the room, stopping next to the albino and staring listlessly at her brother's form. "Is he well?"

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "Uh, no; he was practically gutted, and then his head was beat in with a mace. I don't think he's well."

His sarcasm wasn't deemed worthy of an answer; she just continued to stare. Prussia rolled his eyes, digging out his phone, bored enough to surf through it and play a few games on the device.

"What do you think of Matthew Williams?"

Gilbert didn't glance away from his phone, starting up an old Atari game: Asteroids. "Birdie is awesome. I mean, not as awesome as _me_, but-"

"Why do you like him?"

"Huh?" He never considered _why_ he liked the kid. "Uh, well, he's nice, fun, cute. He makes awesome pancakes. He's not stupid; actually, he's really smart and perceptive. He likes to people-watch, which he's really good at, 'cause he's kinda invisible. People forget about him a lot…kid's kinda lonely, so I try to visit him with my awesomeness as much as I can."

Belarus made a humming noise, stepping closer to her brother, reaching out with one hand to brush a stray piece of hair away; it was covered, as much of his hair was, in dry blood, caked on and turning the once soft tendrils into stiff, stringy strands. His skin was pale, loss of blood and stress showing. He looked dead; the slight rise and fall of his chest the only thing that proved he wasn't.

There was movement at the man's side, and her eyes locked on a ball of white, snuggled up to the Russian: a polar bear. The animal's head lay on the man's chest, looking relaxed, but the eyes were open, watching Belarus's every move with rapt attention, like she was a _threat_…

She wanted to laugh; it wasn't like she was going to hurt her brother. And yet, a small part of her told her that she already had. Her hand at Ivan's forehead paused, and then withdrew. She stood there, not knowing what to do, and just watched her brother breathe.

Trying to ignore the scene in front of him, Gilbert pressed buttons on his phone faster, sticking his tongue out in concentration.

The woman turned around to him, having had enough of the thick atmosphere. She placed a hand on his shoulder as she walked past his chair. "Please look after him," she said. Gilbert frowned.

"He can look after himself. Russia's a big boy; he doesn't need to be baby-sat."

Her grip tightened slightly. "I don't want to see him hurt."

"Yeah, well, it's his choice, just like everything in life is. If he wants to do something, the best thing you can do is support him."

Her stance tensed momentarily, and had he not been focused on his game, he would have seen her face break from its blank slate into a look of surprised anguish. "What if what he wants… is bad for him?"

Prussia snorted ineloquently. "Lots of things I wanted to do weren't good for me, but West backed me up one-hundred percent."

"And look at where you are," she replied.

He did glance up then, sending her a glare. "I put myself here; there's nothing Ludwig could have done to stop me if he'd tried, and if he had, I would have run him over like everyone else. Ivan is the same way: you try to stop him, he'll come back even stronger."

"But he-"

"Matthew is worth it to him," Prussia interrupted impatiently. "If that is what you're worried about. He wouldn't have done this for Canada if he didn't like the kid. The moment he wakes up, we're going over evidence; and we're going to get him back."

Their eyes locked: her coal blue with his bright red. "Do you like him?" she asked, then repeated to clarify what she actually meant: "Matthew… Do you _like_ him?"

His expression turned slightly sheepish. "W-well, the other way around actually; he kinda likes me. I mean, who wouldn't? I'm awesome! Ha…" His laugh trailed off. "But he has particular beliefs… I'm not good at commitment."

"Does my brother like him?"

Gilbert scrunched up his nose. "No idea… I really don't want to know about his love-life. But, uh, anyone would be lucky to have Birdie."

Natalya glanced back at her brother, and then to Gilbert. She made another humming noise before walking out of the room, shutting the door silently behind her. Gilbert was left alone once more, a confused, slightly unhappy expression on his face.

_Ivan and Matthew as a couple? Fuck, that would be crazy; Birdie's family would freak, Belarus would freak, that means I would have to come over here for pancakes-_ Oh hell no!

_Damn it, it had better not be true_! He wanted his pancakes without a side of stupid Russian!

…oOo…

Matthew was so tired; tired of being in the same position on the bed, tired of being treated like a child, tired of being weak, tired of crying…

He couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his face; not after what he had seen. Ivan, injured and angry, that spark in his eyes withering as he crossed the threshold. Matthew didn't want this- knowing Ivan cared, knowing that someone was at least _trying_ to save him, it made him happy.

However, now, he just wished to be forgotten. He didn't deserve to put Russia through such pain- he wasn't worth it. How he wished he could just _say _that; just tell Ivan that he was okay, he would get out of this by himself… eventually. Sure, it would take a while; but he would much rather suffer the time in Mihailov's company than be forced to watch someone he cared about get hurt.

His eyes closed, another tear escaping, slowly making its way down the paths its brethren traveled before it; his cheeks were wet with them, residue of the salt drying on his skin. The burn mark he'd acquired not two hours ago sent out small slithers of pain every once and a while; it wasn't as bad as he first thought, though.

He couldn't see the wound, but he knew it was there, despite the numbness, and he wondered how bad it was; how long it would take to heal. A superficial wound would not scar, but he still feared the mark would forever blemish his face.

Not like he didn't have enough self-esteem issues with his body; he always thought he was too thin, not quite filled out, effeminate, wearing baggy clothes that weren't exactly top-of-the-line in fashion. He didn't have an outstanding presence, so why have anything more in appearance?

Average everything, that was him. Nothing to seriously fight for… and yet for some reason, Ivan found him worthy enough to practically die for (he'd come back, but still, such a gesture was huge). There was no ulterior motive, Matthew thought; nothing else Ivan would gain from saving him.

Did he really make such an impression on the Russian?

Well, Matthew knew being around Ivan had raised his confidence a few notches; he wasn't so tolerant of being ignored, and he stood up for himself when America insulted his military. Ivan influenced him; gave him strength, paid attention to him (even though it was mostly with contempt at something he had done, he never _forgot_ him, in the whole time he'd been with the man).

They had helped each other, slowly changed their views; they both cared about one another, a bond that strengthened into … this.

Matthew didn't know what _this_ was; what their relationship was dubbed as didn't matter, but he knew Ivan had been the _only_ person to see him as he was. To be able to point out all the differences between he and Alfred; to honestly be interested in his culture- and Matthew returned it with all his might.

In half a month, Matthew found someone he could truly relate to and care about; someone he could, without a doubt, call a friend.

Friends or not, though, Matthew didn't want Ivan to hurt any more. He felt pathetic as it was; now he just felt guilty for wanting to be saved in the first place.

His dark amethyst eyes turned to the door, watching it open to reveal Alec Zaytsev, Dmitri's right-hand man. Matthew glared at him too, hating him almost as much. It was the first time to see the man's face properly since he had been kidnapped, and he felt a sliver of satisfaction at the man's injured state. His left hand was shoved in his pocket; the shoulder must have been hurting him. The stitched gash at his eyebrow and the ugly bruise on his cheek destroyed the handsome visage as well.

Alec glared back, obviously not happy with the captive; his voice was contemptuous. "You're quite a handful." He stepped closer, hand reaching out to test all the restraints. "We're moving you," he stated uncaringly. "Mihailov is quite paranoid, especially when two of our security cameras have been broken by unassuming rocks."

His lips twitched in a smile. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Canada didn't. He was confused; did someone try to save him? Ivan had been at the fight the entire time…

A glint of metal in Alec's hand caught his attention: a small syringe, the sharp tip shining in the florescent lighting. It was filled with something from a bottle, and Alec tapped the tube to make sure there were no bubbles inside. He gave the watchful Canadian a charming smile before sticking the needle in his arm. "Sleep well."

Everything wavered slowly, the drug's effects seeped into his system, his senses dying one by one: his hearing, the feeling of the bed underneath him, the smell of Mihailov's lingering cigar, and then his vision of the Russian in front of him, smirking arrogantly.

His body seemed to have floated into pitch darkness, and his thoughts went blank.

…oOo…

"Don't!"

"Oh, come on!"

"I said no, you- bloody hell, Francis, I'm going to _kill_ you!"

It was always a great show whenever the three nations of the United States, United Kingdom, and France got together- it was instantly chaos. They seemed to do anything they possibly could to annoy each other: America would be more hyperactive and ditzy than normal, England would yell and lecture more, and France was much more perverted.

It was a surprise they got anything done with the amount of bickering they did; but somehow, they were all able to finish breakfast, pile into the rental car, and drive the whole thirty-five minutes to the suburban mansion.

Arthur was driving, claiming he was the only one responsible enough, but he was regretting it now; maybe if France was driving, he would keep his dirty hands on the steering wheel and not on his ass. Consequently, the Englishman would have a free hand to smack Alfred with; the git had done nothing but whine about everything from the music on the radio, to going to Russia's house, to being hungry, and they ate just an hour ago!

He was going to have a stroke.

Or another murder on his record- "Francis! Move your hand this instant!"

He could feel the Frenchman's breath on his neck as the man in the back seat leaned forward, the hand on his thigh sliding up the pant-covered leg. "But why? You love it- Ow!"

Arthur hadn't been aiming when he reached an arm behind him to wave away the nuisance; but he snickered, incredibly pleased, when he hit Francis right in the face. "Serves you right, wanker."

"So cruel…"

"Hey, guys!" Alfred leaned back in his own seat, arms crossed in front of his chest. "We need a code word, in case things get too hot in here."

France chuckled. "It's termed _safe word_, and I don't think we do need one, otherwise Arthur would be calling it every second; I'm just too much for him."

A choking sound, and a red-faced Arthur squawked, "Shut _up_, you perverted frog! You- just- Ugh!"

America laughed, reaching back to give France a high-five. "But no, seriously, code word is hamburger."

Arthur glared firmly at the road, face still red from rage and embarrassment. "_You_ say hamburger every two seconds. A code words is supposed to be uncommon, git, not something you can easily say in a normal sentence. Why do we need one, anyway?"

"If at any moment you start feeling communism seeping into your system, you can say a code word only we know, and then we can get the hell outta there!"

"Ça, c'est stupide, Amérique," Francis chimed.

"No, it's not! Communism is contagious!"

Arthur groaned in dismay. "Idiot. We won't stay long anyway- we just want to find… uh."

"Mattie!"

"Yes, Matthew."

"Mon petit Mathieu!"

"And once we find him," Arthur continued impatiently, "we'll be on our way. So there's no need for a stupid code word."

Alfred pouted. "You're no fun."

They pulled up to the house, wondering at the white SUV parked at the front. "That's Germany's, isn't it?" Arthur asked.

"Oui, so we aren't the only ones visiting. Oh! That means Italie is here!" With that, Francis jumped out of the car before the vehicle even came to a complete stop, and Alfred laughed loudly, opening the door and flinging himself out as well.

"Wait up!"

Arthur sighed, feeling the corner of his eye twitch in annoyance. "Idiots." He parked beside Ludwig, taking the time to turn off the heater and the defrost that kept the windows clear. He shut off the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt, and calmly (like a _gentleman_) followed the other two inside the house.

"You didn't even knock," he scolded the two in the living room, shutting the door behind him and stomping his shoes on the mat to get rid of the snow on the bottoms of them.

"Where is everyone?" Alfred asked, a childish frown on his face.

"Perhaps they went somewhere? They could have taken another car. We'll have to wait for them."

Alfred whined, "That sucks!"

Arthur sighed, "Can't help it."

"I'm hungry!"

"You always are."

Alfred continued to pout, until his eyes landed on the big screen television against the wall, and then he started to smile as he looked at the game system beneath it. "Oh, I wonder if he has any good games."

The nation of England grumbled, falling into an armchair.

Francis was left standing, watching as Alfred rummaged through a pile of games and DVDs in the entertainment center. He didn't want to play any games, and Arthur, as interesting as he was, didn't soothe his boredom at the moment.

Deciding to roam the large home of his Russian friend, he travelled up the staircase, humming to himself lightly. Arriving at the first door on the landing, he peeked inside. He figured it would be a guest bedroom, and he was correct; an elaborate one at that. The big windows were covered, denying the room any natural light; a shame, as the regal room would look so much better bathed in the golden sunlight.

France made a _tsk_ sound, striding across the room and opening the curtains widely, smiling as the backyard presented itself in all its bright glory; fresh snow, untouched and pure white, blanketed the ground, pine trees and ferns scattered about. It was beautiful.

A moan sounded from behind him, accompanied by the sound of cloth shifting, and France jumped in fright, spinning around to stare at the bed in shock. Only now did he notice the lumps under the covers, and he tiptoed forward, blue eyes wide, to peek at the figures still asleep.

His jaw dropped at the sight of North Italy and Germany, the former spread across the bed messily, one arm slung across Ludwig's shoulders. The latter of the two rested comfortably on his side, facing Feliciano. It was he who had bemoaned the sudden light being brought into the room; he turned from his side, rolling onto his stomach, and burying his face in the pillow.

_Cute_. Francis struggled to contain his chuckles, and brought out his phone, taking pictures with the camera feature, swearing that Hungary would pay a fortune for them; Japan, too.

He slowly walked out the door, staying as quiet as possible, shutting it behind him. Once it was closed, he practically ran down the stairs, back into the living room. "Guess what!"

"What?" Alfred asked, even though his attention was consumed by the racing game in front of him, fingers mashing on his remote control. Arthur looked up blankly.

"Germany and Italy are upstairs, sleeping in the guest room!"

England's expression changed to confusion. "Why? They have a hotel of their own."

"I do not know…" He didn't think about _why_ they were there, he was too focused on how cute the two looked all curled up together; they could deny it all they wanted, but France knew they were attached at the hip. They might as well get married.

"Perhaps everyone is simply still asleep!" Francis chirped happily. "I'll go wake La Russie." He skipped down the short hallway, opening the door without care, a smile on his face.

He took three steps into the room before he was suddenly hit with a distinct metallic smell, stopping him in his tracks. Strange, that out of all his senses, the smell would relate more than his eyes could properly see and translate in terms of the sight before him.

His mouth, opened to give out a cheerful "Bonjour," cut off in a strangled choking sound, eyes wide and uncomprehending. Blood, something he hadn't seen in a long while, and certainly not in such quantities, practically soaked the bed in front of him. Whoever lost so much fluid would definitely have died by now, surely.

France was not the type to feel nauseated by the mere sight of blood; it was impractical for nations who were so active in war times. However, Francis was certainly not expecting something like this: an image straight from the front lines of a battle, with dirty white hair and a face eerily similar to Russia's.

He shrieked, scrambling back out of the room, his back hitting the wall. "Arthur, Alfred," he yelled. "Come quickly!"

He took a second to breathe, getting his panic under some semblance of control. He had no idea what happened, but he had to help somehow! Dashing back into the master bedroom, he stared in horror at Russia, wracking his brain on what to do, eyes roaming the figure for the man's wounds. "France?"

He yelped again, the voice coming from his left; his head turned so fast he received whiplash. At first when he saw those ruby eyes, his heart skipped a beat; but he soon distinguished the face of his longtime friend. "Prusse?"

"Ja, what are you doing here?"

What a strange question, France thought, mentally freaking out. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Prussia paused in his reply, mouth opening, brows furrowed; he looked conflicted, as if wondering if he should tell his reason or not. France was too impatient to wait for the answer. "What happened to him? Did you do this?"

Gilbert looked offended. "No! I didn't do this, are you crazy?" His red eyes began to lose their edge. "Francis, calm down."

"But _look_ at him!"

"Yeah, I know, but-"

Heavy footsteps sounded, and Arthur's voice came, annoyance in his tone. "What were you screeching about, Fra-"

There was complete silence as England and America stepped into the room, their eyes on the figure of Ivan. For a second, there was only disbelief and bewildered stares, France's exact reaction repeating as both began to hold the same kind of panic.

Prussia knew this was going to cause a headache. He pushed at Francis, herding the three stunned men out into the hallway. "Out, we'll talk in the living room."

They shuffled obediently down the hall, their shocked silence lasting to the foyer where they turned to Gilbert, Alfred the first one speaking, though his voice was choked. "Was that Russia? What- How?"

"It's cool," Prussia held up his hands. "West patched him up good; he's just healing on his own now."

"What _happened_?" France asked.

America jumped to the real question: "Who attacked him?" He looked at England. "I heard nothing about this, didn't even feel it-"

"There was no attack," Gilbert interrupted. "Not against his nation, anyway; this is superficial damage. He was in a fight."

Arthur narrowed his green eyes. "A _fight_? With what, a grinder?"

"Humans… big ones with spears and swords." The three nations in front of him stared blankly. He sighed. "Look, let's talk about this-"

A loud _thump_ came from the room behind them, and Prussia twitched, wondering _what the fuck next?_ before he realized just where the sound came from: the bedroom they just left. His eyes widened; and a second later, he took off in that direction, Alfred, Arthur, and Francis following instantly.

Gilbert rushed into the bedroom, and was next to Ivan in a second. "Dude, West said you can't stand up yet! You shouldn't even be awake!"

Ivan was sitting up, legs hanging over the side of the bed. His face was pale, dirt and blood covered him, and his purple eyes looked hazy. "Нет. I can't."

"Ja, you can. Lay your pale ass back down."

"Where… am I?"

"Your house."

"How did I get here? I was supposed to be…" His words were slurred, and he winced, bringing his right hand up to touch his head. "I… did what I was supposed to. Didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did."

The Russian's shoulders sagged in relief. "Good. I don't want him to get hurt. I don't want it to be my fault."

Prussia shook his head. "You did fine. He got what he wanted, now it's time to rest for a bit."

Ivan attempted to shake his head back, but a moan choked in his throat, and his hand cradled his cranium. "Can't-"

"It's over, Ivan."

"No, it's not; he won't play by the rules." Russia shook off the Prussian's hand and tried to stand. "We have to find him ourselves. He won't just _give him back_." The man gained clarity through anger; his eyes sharpened and his slumped form straightened. "I don't think he plans to give him back at all, every second wasted is another second of hell for Matvey. Get the hell out of my way."

Gilbert narrowed his eyes at the man's attitude, but he couldn't be angry with him for wanting to get things done. In such a precarious situation, he knew it wasn't logical for Ivan to give his body all the time it needed to heal. He was right; time was of the essence, and the quicker they moved, the better things would be.

Dmitri was counting on Ivan to take time to recover; he wouldn't be expecting a quick comeback. "Fine, but get cleaned up first. I'll look at your bandages. Then I've got some evidence; I think I know where they are."

Ivan's eyes locked on his, serious. "You do?"

"Ja, while you were gone, I went to the house stated on the record. I poked around a bit, I'm pretty sure Matt's being held there. We'll go when you're ready."

Russia nodded, standing with difficulty, wincing as his muscles protested loudly. He moved slowly into the bathroom, the door shutting with a resounding click.

Prussia sighed, turning to the three nations just outside the room, suddenly inexplicitly glad Ivan didn't see them. He never wanted the trio of Matthew's warped family getting involved; things were tense enough as it was, and –he narrowed his eyes at America warily- he knew their reactions were going to be on the violent side. "Okay, debriefing time…"

…oOo…

Just as he had faded from the conscious world, he returned in the same manner. His senses were the first to function: he heard soft voices speaking casually and a low steady hum. He felt something hard underneath him; not a bed, but he was still restrained at the wrists and ankles. Thankfully, not in a degrading spread eagle position anymore, he was turned on his side, in a lax fetal pose with his hands trapped behind him.

Wondering what kind of material confined him (metal or rope), he slowly twisted his wrists, feeling for links or scratching thread. _Rope_, _that's easy to get out of- wait… I'm moving!_

His eyes opened, and then narrowed against the bright lights above him. Fighting against his groggy mind, he looked around slowly, seeing he was in some kind of office; a desk on one side, a couch along one wall. It was a small room, eight feet across perhaps, but the furniture was elaborate- deep polished cherry wood, tan leather.

He was laid haphazardly on the floor in a corner, as if they didn't want the pristine couch to get dirty. Despite that, two men stood in the doorway, their backs to him as they chatted, dutifully watching their hostage. He observed them for a bit as they talked lightly, not once looking back at him.

Trying not to garner their attention, even though they didn't seem interested in doing their jobs, he experimented with his drug-hazed body; moving his hands and feet, noticing the hesitance and strength it took to accomplish such meager tasks. _It would have to do…_

He started to pull his wrists apart; the rope holding them together strained, stress sounds on the restraints quiet enough. Thread bit into his skin, and the harder he pulled the sharper it felt, until it broke the skin and beads of blood welled; Matthew twisted his arm, feeling the rope tear across his wrist. With slippery hands and all the strength he could get from his weak arms, he pulled one hand free of the rope binding.

Letting out the breath he'd held during his struggle, he slowly attempted to sit up; the guards at the door hadn't even moved- they were talking about some kind of maid and food. Matthew knew it wasn't probable for someone to wake up from whatever kind of sedative he was injected with, especially so early. Obviously, his body was able to fight off the effects far sooner than expected, but he still didn't know what he could do to get away; just because he was awake didn't mean he had all his strength back.

His limbs were slow and they felt extremely heavy to his aching body. He wouldn't be able to take on all the guards (not just the ones in his room, there were bound to be more on hand). Recalling his earlier thoughts, his eyes closed, allowing sorrow and guilt to consume him for a moment; he was still so pathetic, but if he couldn't get himself out of this, he didn't want Ivan to continue trying.

Determined, with a new plan in mind, he looked the guards over more carefully, noting for the first time that they both had pistols strapped to their sides. He looked for a phone of some kind; everyone had a cell phone nowadays (if they didn't, his new goal would be impossible). Then, as if by magic, the one on the right conveniently reached into his pocket, pulling a certain device out; he pressed buttons, talking to his other friend on duty as he did so.

Matthew's eyes gleamed, and he turned to the rope holding his feet together. With both hands, he easily ripped the threads, wincing slightly at the pins and needles running through his limbs from the restricted circulation.

With the wall to support him, he stood, legs wobbling as they held his weight. He took precious seconds to get used to the position, until he was able to stand on his own. His bare feet made little noise as they dragged across the carpeted floor, and the red silk clothing that he wore slipped down his shoulder; he didn't have the strength to concentrate on pulling it back up. He feared that a single distraction would send him crashing to the floor, and then his plan would have failed- he wouldn't allow that to happen, not after everything…

At last, when he got directly behind the guards, the man on the left turned, noticing his form out of his peripheral vision, and spun around with a shocked cry. Matthew lunged, but his focus wasn't on the guard who had seen him, his vision remained on the man with the phone; with all his speed, he snatched the man around his neck, pulling the slightly taller male closer, back to chest.

A sharp twist, a loud _crack_, and he let the guard drop, finally turning his attention to the other. The man was a rookie- had to have been, because his hand never strayed to the gun holstered at his side; he had completely forgotten it in his panic and fear. He scrambled back, out the door and against the wall of the hallway outside.

Canada sent him a menacing glare, scaring him even more, but he didn't go after him; his hand instead pushed the office door closed, hearing it click, and his fingers fumbled with the lock.

Matthew's knees gave out from underneath him and he fell to the carpet with a thump, his hand reaching out for the phone in the guard's hand. He leaned against the door, as extra force to keep it closed, but it wouldn't do much good eventually. He didn't have a lot of time…

He started typing in a number he'd memorized over the course of his stay in Moscow: Ivan's personal cell. Pleading it would go through, he cradled the device in shaking hands, holding it to his ear, wincing as it touched the burn on his cheek.

Rings passed, anxiety building, fear and desperation overwhelming the Canadian. _Please Ivan, pick up_…

Tears gathered in his eyes. Another ring; what was it, the fifth? "Please, Ivan."

A click was heard on the other end, and Matthew jumped as a familiar voice answered dully, "Привет-"

"Ivan! Merci- I- please-" _Damn it,_ now that he finally was able to talk to Russia, he choked, the tears in his eyes falling.

"Matvey?" the voice whispered, shocked. "Matvey! Where are you? How did you-"

"I don't know," Canada swallowed past his emotion. "We're moving, I think-" He paused as he took in a small window in the wall across from him, its size and shape eerily easy to identify. Rectangular, with rounded edges, a shade pulled halfway down. His stomach dropped as realization dawned, the steady hum of background noise making sense now. "I'm on a plane."

"What?" Ivan asked in disbelief. Then he cursed in Russian. "Where are you headed?"

"I don't know." A commotion from outside caught his attention. "Ivan, listen…"

"Are you hurt? Did he touch you?"

"N-no, Ivan, listen, I don't have much time. You have to stop."

"I promise, I will kill him, Matvey. I'll find you and he will pa-"

"Ivan, no, l-listen to me, stop trying to find me. Stop doing what he says." There was a slam at the door he was leaning against, and his panic worsened. "He's been s-showing me. The fight last night- everything. It's not worth it, s-so stop!"

There was a precious second of silence on the other end of the line, before Ivan's voice sounded, hard and angered. "Matvey, I'm not going to stop, not after all of this."

Canada whimpered. "I'm grateful Ivan, I r-really am. I'm so glad you didn't leave me be-behind. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I got you into this-"

"You did nothing! This guy is after _me_-" A gun shot, right by Matthew's ear, caused him to yelp in fright, and he looked up to see the lock of the door blown out. Amethyst eyes widened, and he dug his heels into the carpet, pushing his back against the wooden door as a body slammed into it from the other side. "Matvey!"

"I-I'm here."

"I'm not leaving you there," the Russian stated, his voice strong and confident. "You won't have to wait long, Matvey."

"But you- you're hurt enough."

"Worth it," he growled. "All worth it, and don't think for a second that I regret it-"

The boards behind him cracked as another body connected to the door, and Canada shut his eyes tightly, pushing back as hard as he could. Tears streaming down his face, he nodded imperceptibly, even though Ivan couldn't see him. "Thank you," he whispered.

Ivan's voice softened. "Da, for everything you've done for me- I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe."

"_You_ be safe, I can't watch you get hurt. I can't stand it."

"I'm fine, Matvey. Understand?"

"I-I'm… " _Scared_.

The door busted, wood splinters falling on the Canadian, an arm reaching through the gaping hole and snatching a fistful of golden hair. Matthew made a small pained sound as the hand hauled him back, scalp stinging with the treatment. His hand dropped the phone, coming up to clasp around the hand holding his hair, trying to pry the fingers apart, yelping as the fist jerked. The muzzle of a gun touched his neck, digging into his jugular with force, causing him to stop struggling.

The door opened; the hand and gun trained on him the whole time. Guards stepped in, followed by Alec and Dmitri last. "I told you, boss," Alec commented lightly. "He's a handful. I would much rather you do away with him now."

"Nonsense. Look at him; handful or not, he's one-of-a-kind. So beautiful."

"Whatever."

"Your place, Alec, remember it. Take that tone with me, and I'll much rather _do away_ with _you_."

"Yes, sir."

Dmitri reached down, scooping up the abandoned cell phone, placing it to his ear with a smile. "Hello, Mr. Braginski. I apologize for that rude interruption; I told you to rest up, but that angel of yours felt differently. Do not worry, friend, it will not happen again."

His gold eyes flashed as he hung up the phone, looking to Matthew with a cold expression. Canada gasped as the hand holding his hair pulled, his eyes locking with Dmitri's as the man stepped forward, kneeling in front of the Canadian. "That was a very stupid thing to do, ангел. I am not happy with your behavior. Do you know what happens to you, when I am not happy?" Matthew's breath hitched as Dmitri smiled wickedly. "You're about to find out."

...Thank You…

Ha, six is the same in French as it is in English, what do?

Not as long as I thought it would be; sorry about that. I'm not too happy with this chapter, but it serves its purpose. I wanted Ivan and Matthew to get a chance to talk, and this is going to be one of the only opportunities there are for it.

Gah, dramatics.

Oh, I have to fan-art! Been a long time, too, so it's posted on my profile, in the Giving In section, Credit is given to all artists.

_Translations:_

Ангел (Russian): Angel

Merci (French): Thank you

Ça, c'est stupide, Amérique (French) : That is stupid America

Verstanden (German): Understand

_Disclaimer_: I'm tired of writing this… Prussia! Do it for me! "Uh… the sadistic author chick owns nothing… But by all means, sue her bitch-ass anyway, cause this story is unawesomely sad." Thank you! :3


	26. Пять: Five

Chapter 26: Пять: Five

Ivan leaned against the glass door of the shower behind him. The cold was a welcome feeling, after his near boiling temperature shower, the force in which he scrubbed the grime off his body, and then… everything with Matthew.

He had barely stepped out when the phone rang and he had lurched on unsteady feet to snatch the device from the counter. His stomach had dropped when the caller ID told of an unrecognizable number and he stoned his emotions in order to seem normal.

That composure broke upon hearing Canada on the other line. It was a great relief; it told Ivan that the boy was ok, he was still holding on. In some ways, however, it only furthered his state of panic; Matthew's voice had been hysterical, the brevity, and the fact that he had risked himself just for the chance to talk to Ivan…

Titling his head back gently, he leaned on the glass behind him, staring at the ceiling with weary eyes. Matthew telling him to cease in his efforts to save the boy- it practically struck a knife through his heart.

It really hit home, the fact that Matthew was so _different_ than anyone he'd ever known, or ever believed could exist. Canada was a novelty; his priorities were out of order. He wasn't worried about _himself_ in this situation, but _him_? Ivan didn't know whether to believe that it was a selflessness straight from an ethereal angel, or indescribable stupidity.

It touched him, though; as much as his heart pained him to hear those words, in a way, it strengthened his resolve to persevere, because Matthew _cared_ enough to relieve him of the responsibility. Matthew had bluntly told him he was not blamed- Ivan was not obligated to continue, and Canada would understand if he abandoned him.

Ivan wouldn't be the coward and take that convenient way out of something he had originally been a target of. Canada didn't deserve to be left behind, and despite his heartfelt speech about him getting free on his own, Ivan knew the boy wanted the help. Especially now, after he had taken such a risk in contacting him.

Cold fear slithered through his veins as he thought about the consequences of their conversation. What was happening to him now? His call was obviously a desperate act, and Ivan was glad to have spoken to the Canadian; and yet, he felt completely pathetic in not being able to protect him. Some kind of retribution was in order, and Ivan wished, above all, that he could take it instead. He didn't want another picture of Matthew's new injuries.

He sighed, a weary, achy sigh, and straightened. Pushing from the shower door, towel around his waist, he stepped slightly uneasily through his room. His balance had recovered slightly, but his head still pounded, and the ground would wave every once and a while like a circus fun-house. Dressing himself was more difficult than he thought it would be, but he managed; mostly through sheer stubbornness (because he'd much rather take another beating than ask for help with that kind of thing). Especially seeing as the only person he'd seen around was Prussia… that was an absolute hell no.

His whole body tensed momentarily as his eyes searched everywhere for his scarf; the initial fear of losing or tearing it faded once he remembered it was safe in his car. Unfortunately, his car wasn't here. He frowned, wondering how he could get to it. Not only could he not drive in the state he was in, but he also had no time for such a thing.

_Canada said he was on a plane… that meant that wherever Prussia thought they were, was wrong now. _

Musing on those thoughts only seemed to worsen his headache- he reached into the closet and snatched one of the spare scarves hanging there. They weren't nearly as comfortable or valuable to him, but he couldn't go around without his neck covered. It was, at least, soft cotton; dyed a dark brown, it matched the color of his pants and contrasted well with his white shirt.

He didn't bother with combing his hair; he had nobody to impress, and he didn't particularly care if he looked exactly how he felt. He merely ran his fingers through the strands, carefully feeling the gash above his temples, wincing at the tenderness. Morphine would be greatly appreciated, but he couldn't remember if he had any- they would be in the in the kitchen if he did, buried behind the more modern Advil and Tylenol. Ivan let out a depressed groan, wavering on his feet as he stepped into the hall.

It was also more difficult than it should have been just walking to the living room. His temples pounded, a rush in his ears that he couldn't ignore, and there was a commotion that, for a second, he believed was only in his mind. A crescendo of voices bickering and snapping like dogs- their volume too high pitched and all in the same tone. It was only when he stepped into the foyer, a place where he could see the living room clearly, that he realized the chaos did not originate in his head…

"How could you let this happen?" The question was voiced in a scream that tore through the air and caused Ivan to wince. Surprisingly, that was from France, who stood in front of the couch, livid.

The question was not directed at the Russian, however; instead, the object of everyone's attention was Gilbert, who looked stressed with his furrowed brows, clenched fists, and narrowed ruby eyes. His posture was stiff as he watched the Frenchman wearily.

Unfortunately, Francis was the least of his problems.

Russia did not know what he had walked in on, but he could take a guess, and he was thankful nobody had noticed his presence yet. He was not feeling up to a brawl with Alfred… who, indeed, looked ready to kill. Gilbert would pay for taking his eyes from the real danger.

America was beyond questions; he lurched across the coffee table, hands wrapping around Prussia's neck and sending them to the floor in a mess of limbs and curses. Gilbert attempted to wrestle with the Nation, bucking his hips and twisting his upper body; anything to get the practically homicidal American off of him.

He was failing. Even with France pulling at Alfred's shirt and England yelling reasons why they needed the Prussian alive.

"He can tell us where Matthew is! Alfred!"

Nothing seemed to have changed for France or America; but for Ivan, Canada's name made him jump, and he took in the view with more clarity. Canada's family was involved… _Great_, _because that's just what we need_. His headache throbbed and he clenched his teeth, already feeling his anger rise as the ruckus in front of him continued.

This was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.

Unfortunately, he couldn't simply walk away from this situation. Even if he was not in any shape to struggle with Alfred, Gilbert was useful to him right now. The Prussian had been to Dmitri's base- and Ivan would be a fool to think the past empire didn't come out with something.

His movement caught both France and England's attention, and they stepped back to give him room, watching with wide eyes. He bent, using his right arm (his left shoulder was out of commission),and easily put Alfred in a headlock, dragging him up and off of the albino beneath him.

_I never thought I would save Gilbert…_

Alfred struggled, continuing to yell, and Ivan was doing a good job of holding him back, knowing that the rage would fade when the American realized what was going on.

Many people didn't see it past the man's stupid exuberant exterior, but Alfred had a short temper. Sure, his skin was thick to many insults and actions; but if the wrong button was pushed, it could be likened to setting off an H-bomb.

Coupled with the fact that Alfred tended to act first and think later, it was a dangerous combination. The animosity America had was an intense heat that scorched everything like a raging explosion; but an eruption such as that was fleeting- sweltering in its first few seconds of life, then fading to a significantly lesser degree.

Ivan didn't have the chance to restrain Alfred until that inferno of anger abated. An elbow connected with his abdomen, the wound directly gasped, instinctively curling in around his stomach as it flared in sudden, white-hot pain.

The affliction was so intense that his eyesight darkened around the edges; he felt as if he would pass out, before he took a shaky breath and willed himself to stay awake. He tried to tell himself that this wound was nothing- he'd been stabbed before- he would suck it up and act every bit the intimidating country that he was. He couldn't stop a strangled moan escaping his lips, however; and as his knees collapsed, he cursed at the weakness his body showed.

Alfred, still in his grip, was suddenly the only thing holding his body up, and the American unexpectedly fell with the weight, wide eyes finally turning with lucidity to see who had pulled him from Gilbert in the first place. "Ivan?"

Russia groaned through gritted teeth, left arm braced tenderly around his middle. The living room was silent as the occupants stared at him in mixtures of shock. Prussia was the only one to move, sliding over the carpet to Ivan's side, red eyes straying to America wearily. "Hey, let me see."

"'m fine…"

Alfred looked back and forth from Russia to Prussia, narrowed blue eyes unusually sharp. "What happened to him?"

"He got fuckin' stabbed with a spear, and his head was split open to where you could see the _brain_, I swear. His shoulder was blown out by some kind of sledge hammer an-"

"Gilbert," Ivan hissed. "Shut up."

Prussia just rolled his eyes and pressed against Ivan's chest, reaching for the shirt and pulling it up to check the stitches. A four-inch line ran diagonally from the top of the navel to the left rib, blood welling through the thick black threads in the skin.

The wound had a grotesque color to it: black and red near the punctured holes where the thin strings pulled the skin together, and a reddish bruising everywhere else. As long as the skin didn't rip with the activity, Ivan should be fine; Gilbert wondered if it _would_ hold, though. With the amount of movement they expected to do, it would be difficult for Ivan's injury to heal.

France, England and America hovered, Alfred still looking a bit murderous; but now, those eyes held suspicion. "Who did this to him?"

"Who do you think?"

Russia sighed, pausing to glare at Gilbert as a hand prodded the wound unnecessarily. He slapped it away with a sneer. "Technically, it was a human. I was in a fighting tournament."

"Why?" France asked.

"Because I was ordered to," he growled. Ivan's slightly red tinted eyes met ruby as Prussia looked up. "Why did you tell them?"

Gilbert leaned back, crossing his arms, offended. "They came over and saw you. I had to tell them-"

"You could have lied; you're good at that, da?"

Alfred stood up. "I'm right here, I would appreciate it if you stopped ignoring me. Apparently my brother has been kidnapped due to your-"

Ivan snapped at him before he could finish that sentence. "You were there too! None of us are at fault and I'm not going to play a stupid blame game with any of you. It's a waste of time."

"Ja, time we could be using to go save Birdie-"

"Don't bother," Ivan interrupted, "I just got a call; he's on a plane."

Gilbert's eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in anger. Standing up and beginning to pace, he cursed in German. "That was our only fuckin' lead!"

"Da."

"What did that bastard tell you to do now?"

Russia's shoulders slumped. "Nothing," he mumbled. "The call was from Matthew himself. He was able to get a hold of a phone; we weren't able to talk long, though. He couldn't say where he was going…"Ivan paused, eyes widening slightly. "The cell phone number he called from could be tracked. We could at least see who owned the phone."

Gilbert nodded. "And we could still pay another visit to the house. If we manage to catch someone, we could get some answers on where the plane went. Someone is bound to know- and I think it's time we started using force; it's clear he's not going to hand Matt over, even if you do what he says."

"Da..."

Alfred growled. "That's all well and good, I'm glad we're getting somewhere, but I want to know what started all this in the first place. The guy's after _you_," he pointed a finger at Russia. "What does he have against you, and why did he kidnap _Mattie_?"

Ivan clenched his jaw, slowly leaning back into a more comfortable position. "I don't know what I did against him, I'd never heard of Dmitri Mihailov until now; he has no stand in my government. As for Matthew… Canada had been staying here for the past three weeks, since the meeting in Beijing."

France's wide blue eyes and slight frown relayed his concern. "Why has he been staying with you, Russia?"

"I was sick, he was helping me. Then he just- I asked him to stay for a while and he agreed."

America glared; the fist at his side looked ready to fly, and whatever connected with it was sure to break. "It's just like my brother to help anyone out, but if you took advantage of that-"

"I did not," Ivan growled, their eyes connecting in a fierce battle of stubbornness. "Matvey assisted me; his help was much appreciated. After the business of my economy was sorted out I simply showed him around town, nothing else." _True, nothing else really happened; and yet, there was so much more…_

"How was he when you spoke to him?" Gilbert asked, tone serious as he brought them back on topic. "West said you got a…" He glanced to Alfred, rightfully concerned with how the man was going to react; he knew his brother was kidnapped, but he didn't know how badly the Canadian was injured. Mentioning the pictures Dmitri kept sending to kindly keep them updated on Matthew's health could make things so much worse.

Gilbert hadn't even seen the messages, only knew of them from Germany's description; he wasn't sure he wanted to see anyway. Prussia wasn't confident that he could keep calm under the threat of those images. No matter how worried he was for Canada, he knew he had to keep collected; he could admit that he wasn't very good at containing his anger.

The look didn't escape America's attention, though;the usually oblivious man who would ramble about McDonalds and cheerfully insult anything outside of heroism was a completely different person than the one before them now. His blue eyes were cold, holding a rare pissed off look on his face, the ever present dopey smile long gone. "Stop ignoring me, this is _my_ brother we're talking about- tell me everything you know!"

Gilbert gritted his teeth, not liking the haughty attitude the American had. It was nobody's fault that Matthew was kidnapped; like Ivan said earlier, the blame-game was over with- useless and counterproductive. Russia, Prussia and Germany were doing everything they could to get him back, and here Alfred was- insulting them as if they didn't care."Suddenly he's your brother, huh? Don't pretend to be so caring when you didn't even know who he was a day ago."

"I know who he is, don't you dare-"

"I know him better than you do!"

England stepped between the two. "Everyone in this room has forgotten about the lad at one time or another; that does not mean we do not care about him." He turned to Prussia, face stern. "By all means, we are his immediate fami-"

"Then why didn't any of you _notice_? It took you three fuckin' days-"

"I know," England snapped. "I know it took us that long, and I _regret that_ terribly. But we know now, and we want to save him just as much as either of you- you cannot deny us that."

Gilbert looked stubborn, still enraged and sadistic enough to continue rubbing their failures in their faces- because their neglect towards Matthew had bothered him for _years_; even if Canada had denied it, it hurt the man whenever his own family forgot his name.

"_Alfred comes to play baseball with me and he gives me presents on my birthday-"_

"_What? You don't even like baseball; you come back with a black eye, anyways! And your presents include American beer, fireworks, and a hamburger- what kind of gifts are those?"_

"_It's the time spent with him that counts! Please, Gil, Alfred cares, I know he'd back me up in anything- he just has a lot of pressure coupled with an insane ADD disorder, that's just who he is-"_

"_Now you're just making excuses for him! That's what you always do: make excuses for every little mistake they make against you. It doesn't change the fact that America only needs you for trade, England only cares when it benefits him, and France just wants in your pants."_

"… _that's not true, Gilbert. That's not true at all."_

Matthew had never liked it when Prussia insulted his family; despite all the hate Gilbert had against the trio (even France, a good friend of his), he learned to stop calling the reasons out when around Canada. The man may have been wronged by the three other nations, but he still treated them like family- with a fierce Canadian loyalty the others were completely unappreciative of.

For such a long time he had wished to point out everything they had done wrong- all they had missed out on; Birdie was an amazing kid, with strong conviction, selflessness, and devotion… they never noticed what they had right beside them. Never noticed how much their uncaring attitude hurt Canada, when he would give everything he could to them, had they asked.

Ivan, who was still on the floor as he continued to recover, sighed in acceptance. "Prussia," he called. "England is right. Besides, I will not turn down their help when we could use all we can get."

America crossed his arms after casting a sneer in Gilbert's direction. "So, tell me what the hell's going on. I never heard of a Dmitri Mihailov either…sounds Russian."

"He is. He's a civilian of mine. He kidnapped Matvey to get me to fight for him in some illegal brawling; it's been a hobby of mine for a while, but the one I went to last night was different than the others I'm usually involved with. The tournament involved weaponry, and he wanted to see blood- specifically, mine."

Prussia fell into the vacant armchair, seething, his earlier thoughts resurfacing; no use in hiding it if Ivan wanted them involved. "And if he doesn't do what that sick fuck says, he gets a pretty little picture of Birdie all drugged up and bleeding- you got another one last night, right?"

"Da," Ivan watched their reactions, particularly Alfred's: the narrowing of eyes, the clenched fists, even in the fold of his tense arms in front of his chest. His whole stance screamed of how he was ready to pounce, but the enemy wasn't there. America's fury was slowly building, pressure increasing; and so far, there was no outlet.

France and England took the news differently; Matthew's French father was almost in tears, pacing back and forth behind the couch. He looked desperate, saddened and hurt, mumbling things in French. It reminded Ivan of the way Canada would speak in that tongue, either in anger or in panic (mostly anger… and that one time when he was drunk).

England still looked shell shocked, his hands fisting at his sides, releasing, and once again tightening. Truthfully, Russia didn't know how close Matthew was to his English father; their relationship was slightly more complicated than the others, particularly because, unlike Alfred and Francis who had very clear personalities and intentions, Arthur was not as simple or predictable. Canada was still part of the Commonwealth- Russia had only known Matthew a few weeks, but even he knew the Canadian could do well on his own- so why? He supposed it was because Matthew _wanted_ to remain close to the former empire.

It only confounded Russia- the little family was so complicated, almost as estranged as his own.

In all the time Ivan had known the Englishman, he couldn't anticipate the man's actions. He wasn't so certain of how the Briton would react- he still couldn't tell if the man was going to fly off into a rage, or break down like France had. So far, it seemed like neither,but he was far from indifferent; more like, he was calmly going through scenarios and possibilities, studying each and every detail so he could scrutinize and (unlike everyone else) criticize and insult the events with actual logic to back him up.

Suddenly, those forest green eyes lifted and connected with violet; bushy eyebrows that he was notorious for coming together in a frown. "May we see the photos?"

Ivan nodded slightly, bringing up the first image on his phone and handing it to the Briton, bypassing the American who instantly held his hand out first; England had asked, and nicely, even in such a situation. Russia respected the way Arthur held himself together, even as that determined face broke at the sight of the image; he sucked in a breath, jaw dropping.

Those striking green eyes blinked a few times, glassy as they were; for once, England ignored the proximity of Alfred and Francis as they looked over his shoulder. "So, they did this…"

Ivan shrugged, holding in a wince as his forgotten left shoulder throbbed at the movement. "Alec, the man who spoke to me on behalf of Mihailov, told me most of those injuries were caused in a car wreck. The next picture is what happened… when I hesitated in a fight. He wanted me to take fatal blows with the weapons thrown in- axe, spear, hammer- a set of _senbon_."

America growled, turning away from the phone in England's hands and starting to pace nervously like the Frenchman before him. "You said you knew where he was, right?"

"Нет," Ivan replied. "He's moving, but we'll be going to the place Prussia thinks he was held. I don't think peacefully doing as he says is going to help anymore."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have even tried," Alfred snapped.

Prussia shook his head. "He didn't have a choice; we needed to know for sure where he was before we could go up against him. If Ivan didn't show up where he was supposed to, and the address on the records was wrong, we'd have absolutely nothing- and the bastard's shown us that he's not afraid of hurting Birdie. Ivan couldn't have taken that chance." Ruby eyes looked pained. "If I had just saved Mattie when I was _there_- I was in the fucking house, _I was so close_."

"You both would have gotten killed, then," England murmured.

"Da, and I wouldn't know where either of you were. Besides, you took Kozlov with you, I do not want him hurt; that is not what I brought him here for-"

"Who's Kozlov?" Alfred asked.

"A human- retired KGB agent. I brought him in to track down Matvey's cell phone, since that is what Mihailov is using, but it is blocked. He was trustworthy, he knew about our existence, and he was not active in my government. I wanted to keep this situation a secret."

"Yes," Arthur nodded. "We don't want anyone knowing of this; especially Matthew's own government. Bloody hell, there would be chaos in his office if they knew their nation had been kidnapped."

"Da."

"Then leave Mattie's government out, but _our_ military could kick his ass," Alfred interrupted. "I can contact the Air Force, they can track a cell phone no matter what stupid blocking chip is put inside-"

"Alfred," Ivan growled. "I know the military could do that, but it's too risky to get them involved. This is a personal matter-"

"Personal my ass, I'm gonna save my brother. I can have a few agents here in an hour, at the most-"

"What is _my_ government going to do when they see the American military entering my airspace? You can't hide something like that, Amerika, it would cause panic- I cannot simply tell my boss what you are doing. None of our militaries can help us now."

"Then what do you plan to do?" The American snapped.

"Kill him myself!" Alfred's stance faltered, and blue eyes that had been narrowed threateningly lightened somewhat. "That coward has insulted me, taken someone who was supposed to be safe in my country, presumed to order me around- I am not going to just sit back and play his game. Just because I am not issuing orders to my soldiers does not mean I quit- he _will_ die, by my hand!"

The living room was silenced, France looking to him fearfully, England seeming relieved, and Alfred still staring at him with a slowly changing expression, from righteous rage to… acceptance. His bright blue eyes lost the edge that had been directed at the Russian; the frown at his lips remained, but as the seconds ticked by and their eyes stubbornly kept that determined, angry spark, Alfred's hand slowly reached out.

"Okay," he said. "Let's get started on that plan, then."

Russia glanced from the hard blue irises to the hand in front of his face, hesitantly reaching up, their palms clasped firmly, and America easily pulled the wounded Ivan up. "We better put some bandages on those wounds though, big guy. You're seeping."

"Da."

Before he could go retrieve the first aid kit, England stepped forward, returning the phone to its owner as he passed."I'll go get it."

Gilbert suddenly leaned back with a surprised "oh," thrusting his pelvis up in the air to dig something out of his back pocket, bringing his hand up to show three disks. "We have these. They were in Dmitri's study. A whole shelf of them- they're probably of you. We should watch them; see if they have anything we could use. Franny," Francis jumped slightly at his name being called. "Go wake West for us, will ya? He needs to see this too."

France hurried off, his movements stiff, but looking slightly relieved at the prospect of doing something. England came back a moment later with the first aid kit from the master bedroom; he set it on the coffee table, getting Ivan to take off his shirt in order to clean and wrap the wound. Alfred watched, assisting when needed.

Gilbert looked up as France came down the stairs, Germany following a few steps behind. Ludwig's hair wasn't combed back, his clothes weren't perfectly pressed like usual, and he had the look of someone with little sleep. Yet, his bright blue eyes were clear, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he nodded to the newcomers in greeting. "I am glad you have decided to help."

England snorted. "I'm only sorry we were not informed of this earlier. We would have been here in a second had we known."

Another set of footsteps followed behind the two nations, and the group turned as one to see Viktor Kozlov at the stairs. He paused when he noticed their attention, and he fidgeted nervously. "Uh, извините. I could go if you-"

Gilbert rolled his eyes."Get in here, kid. We're going over the tapes. Everyone, this is Viktor Kozlov. Viktor, this is America, England, and France. Careful, their stupidity is contagious." Standing from the chair, he shut off the game Alfred had been playing an hour ago without a single complaint.

Before anyone could protest to anything he said, he pressed on."Alright, first one is titled _Fifth Street, June 19__th__, 1994_." He slid the disk into the player, watching as the machine read the data, taking a breath to soothe some anxiety as a black and white security picture popped up on the screen.

There was no sound, simply a low quality image of a room full of people. There was a small space in the middle of the crowd, where a mere two figures were singled out in the space. Ivan sighed, leaning his head back on the couch, right arm coming up to cover his eyes. He didn't need to see any more; it was obvious to him what these DVDs held.

"He's been recording my fights," he said, and a grumbled curse in Russian followed, which nobody cared to translate.

Gilbert looked at him from his crouched position in front of the television. "So… you've been going to these fights almost every night for the past sixteen years?"

Russia was glad to have covered his face; if he hadn't, then his guests would have seen the regret in his eyes, even if he hid the emotion behind anger at the question. When he participated in his little hobby, he certainly didn't think anybody would know about it; he hid things pretty well. Now, though, not only had everyone found out about this personal piece of information, but it had apparently garnered enough attention from this Dmitri Mihailov. "Da…"

"Well," America drawled. "That was stupid."

Ivan didn't dignify that with an answer- the insult bothered him, but it wasn't like he could disagree… he had been pretty stupid lately, hadn't he?

Another sigh, and Gilbert hit the fast-forward button on the remote, looking for any clues. "What's the point in filming this, though?" the albino asked. "What's his goal?"

Russia shrugged his broad shoulders, ignoring the twinge in the left one- he kept forgetting about it, but soon enough, the pain would numb out. "I could have made a lot of money doing this over the years." He usually forfeited before a winner could be called. It felt wrong to take money from his civilians in such an unfair match; however, had he continued, he would have been entitled to millions of dollars by now.

"If money was what he was after, he would have had you win in that tournament last night," Ludwig stated; his voice was gruff as he leaned back on the couch beside the Russian, eyes narrowed at the carpet in thought. "Instead, his goal was to give entertainment to special guests."

"Either way, he wants me to fight for him," Ivan growled. "He gets a kick out of ordering me around like a slave."

"Ja… we need more leverage against him." There were a few minutes of silence.

America crossed his arms. "Well, does the sick bastard have a family? He kidnapped my brother- let's take one of his."

Prussia chuckled. "I like that idea."

"He has no family," Ludwig replied. "Parents are dead, he was an only child." The blue eyes glanced to Kozlov, standing at the edge of the room, not exactly comfortable with being in the middle with them. "Isn't that right?"

"Y-yes," he nodded. "The file I pulled up on Dmitri Mihailov was accumulated from the internal files themselves. I have a scan of his birth certificate and everything- he's an only child, he's never been married, no girlfriend… nothing."

"The only thing we can go for is material."

Gilbert perked. "He has a safe! In his office, there is this giant safe with some major security. He's bound to have something important in there, we can take that! Or, you know, his company, some kind of air-craft business, we can get that to crash, can't we?"

"Yes, we could." England tied off the last of the gauze wrappings around Ivan's left shoulder, then pushed the arm from Ivan's face, ignoring the slight scowl of the mauve eyes to check the stitches hidden underneath damp white hair. "You have the name of his business? I could make some calls. We can freeze his earnings if we know what bank he uses. We may not be able to use violence or our military, but we can use our influence for other things."

Kozlov nodded. "Yes…"

England stood, knees popping with the movement after kneeling for so long. "Well, let's get to it, lad." He made a shooing motion with his hand, and they turned to make their way to the study. England turned just before leaving them. "Get those bastards good…"

For some particular reason, his green eyes bore into violet as he said that, a determined and almost trusting look given to Ivan. The Russian nodded, assuring the Briton that he would bring hell down upon everyone involved with Dmitri Mihailov, without mercy.

As Prussia put in the other tapes, just to see if they were all Russia's fights or if they contained something else, America turned to France, a frown on his lips. Francis had been frighteningly quiet after his initial reaction to the news, and ever since then, they had witnessed his spiraling mood. The man looked as if he had returned from a war: eyes hooded, a haunted look on his face, hands shaking and body rigid. Less than an hour ago, he was playfully groping Arthur to gain a reaction. Now… he was a mess.

"Oi, France, you want to stay with Iggy?"

The man jumped slightly at the sudden attention, blue eyes snapping up. "Non. I want to go with you," His voice was quiet, yet thick with his accent, vowels pronounced, and typical English articulation slurred.

Ivan narrowed his eyes at the Frenchman, relieved that Alfred had asked such a question. France and Russia were on the edge of friendship; Francis was one of the few nations who would come speak with him willingly. Seeing him so distressed concerned the Russian, especially since his mind kept pointing out the contrasts between Francis and his "son."

Francis' hair was slightly longer, but held the same volume; the waves and slight curls were the same, even down to the color of the strands. Francis was taller, but from a distance, even their figures were similar. It was only when Ivan glanced at the face that he saw the resemblance end.

They both had characteristics that were more feminine,besides the stubble on France's chin. Their cheekbones gave them an aristocratic look and those eyes remained wide and expressive, hearts open for the world to see, should they simply gaze into them. Matthew inherited a lot from his French father figure, and yet, he was much more complicated.

Matthew was different, and Ivan could make a list of so many reasons why. It wasn't just France, either; Canada's entire family. Everything seemed different between them now. His way of thinking had changed.

A month ago, he would not have cared to make such observations, oblivious to everything hidden beneath the surface regarding the family. Now, though, he couldn't help but focus on the little things that were unique to Matthew, that were not present in his family.

The introverted personality, for example; England, America and France were not shy by any means, and their brash and loud actions and voices annoyed him. Ivan was getting used to the quiet and demure presence of Canada; the boy's soothing voice would be a great relief to his pounding headache now.

Even if he knew the Canadian would be fussing over his wounds as a mother would- he could tolerate that. As long as Matthew was out of the enemy's hands, the boy could fret about the Russian all he wanted. Ivan promised he would say nothing, he could allow that, perhaps he could even enjoy it; after all, the last time Matthew had tended to his injuries, Ivan couldn't help but relax under the soft hands.

The way the boy treated him with such care, even over a little cut at the brow, or a cracked rib. He had tenderly cleaned his face, brushing the hair from his forehead as he did so…

He held back a sigh, remembering how Matthew had been so kind and careful- it surely wouldn't be so bad to go through that again, especially since he rarely let anyone else treat his wounds. Unless they were severe enough, he usually patched himself up, and he wasn't so gentle.

Shaking his head slightly, attempting to stop his mind from delving further into the way Matthew would play doctor, he refocused on France. For some reason, he felt compelled to comfort the Frenchman, as he knew Canada would not want his father figure so distressed. "You should stay."

Blue eyes sharpened, even as his hands clenched. "N-non, why should I-"

"We already have four nations storming a house of humans, we don't need more. I would like it if you stayed and protected my sister."

Ludwig nodded. "Ja, Italy too."

Desperation."Mathieu-"

"Will not be there," Ivan stated. He didn't want to be mean about it- as strange as that sounded to himself- but seeing France so shaken up reminded him of his own panic. He wouldn't antagonize Francis for caring about Matthew- not when he himself felt the same, even if he hid it extremely well in comparison. "You are needed here; Mihailov can easily attempt to kidnap Italy and Ukraine as well."

France looked ready to argue again, but his shoulders slumped and eyes slid to the floor. "Fine. I will stay," he murmured.

Ivan started to stand from the couch, trying to use as little energy and muscle movement as possible, his wounds protesting slightly. He glanced to America, a dry smirk crossing his lips. "We need more guns, da?"

Prussia chuckled. "Fuck yeah."

…oOo…

Matthew gasped, body curling in instinctively to protect his torso as a fist buried itself into his gut for what had to be the tenth time. His lungs desperately tried to pull in air, a burning sensation in his chest from his heaves. The two men behind him, restraining his arms, lifted him back up, opening his defenses to another hit.

His body was slow to react; the drug in his system was taking effect, and Alec, a few paces away, calmly fixed the IV drip-bag on a metal stand. The force of his recoil caused the bag to teeter at the edge before the Russian steadied it, muddy brown eyes watching blankly.

Mihailov straightened, looking down at the Canadian disdainfully, shaking his right hand out and checking his knuckles over, observing the slight red hue on the skin. "You're as annoying as you are beautiful," he murmured. "Why couldn't you just do as you were meant to? Now Ivan is going to be even more difficult. If I let you get away with defying me, what example does that set for others?"

Through clenched teeth, Matthew let out a groan. "Vas chier."

Dmitri tilted his head slightly. "Oh, you know French? I know a little myself." He slowly lowered himself to look into Matthew's hooded face, a smile coming to his lips as he observed the smeared red across his lips, a darkening bruise around the left eye, and the burn mark left behind from yesterday. His hand came up, smoothing across the unmarred cheek, caressing it like a lover before tangling his fingers in the blond strands, yanking the boy's head up to easier look into those amethyst eyes.

"Si c'est ça que tu veux."He tipped forward, placing a rough kiss on his lips, keeping the boy still by the grip in his hair. Matthew let out a surprised whine and Mihailov took advantage, slipping a tongue out to lap at the soft lips, tasting the blood, and humming at the bitter iron flavor. Pulling back slightly, Dmitri chuckled as he was met with cold mauve eyes, malice so strong that it seemed to affect the temperature in the room. "Do you want more, Ангел?"

"Laisses-moi tranquille!"

The words were supposed to come out as a scream, a dangerous voice in order to match the intense look of hatred in his eyes. However, his tone was instead soft and slurred- slowly but surely, he was turning into a paralyzed mute, unable to so much as insult his attackers. Dmitri could only laugh. "Like a tiger with a kitten's voice, da?"

The hand tangled in his hair shifted, loosening its grip and feeling the soft strands. Mihailov leaned forwardonce more and Matthew tried to turn away, wanting the man no closer, and definitely not wanting to feel those lips on his own again. Their cheeks touched, and Canada shivered as hot breath breezed over his ear. "I'll take that as a yes," the voice whispered. "Plenty of time for that, angel; we have a long flight ahead of us."

He leaned back with a smirk. "Drop him," he ordered, and the two bodyguards holding the Canadian up let go without question or care, watching the boy fall unceremoniously on his behind. Dmitri hummed, a bit disappointed in the boy's lack of energy, even though it was to be expected. "Leave us."

The two men walked out, and Alec followed after a few quick words in Russian. The door shut quietly behind them and Mihailov went to lock it. "It pains me to see you so pathetic. I get the feeling you are quite strong for such a small boy." He cast a gaze to the right, where the man Matthew had killed still lay brokenly. "He is proof of that."

His light footsteps wandered to the desk, opening a drawer to take something from inside. "Perhaps, you are as strong as Ivan."

Matthew couldn't turn his head any more; it was too heavy, and his arms would barely twitch upon his command. Dmitri was out of his sight, and that made him nervous. He was back where he started, it seemed…

Mihailov made his way back to the prone Canadian, each step a dark foreboding. Until he stood at Matthew's side, staring down almost in sympathy for his weakness before lashing his foot out in a kick.

Canada didn't see it coming, and he could barely breathe at the kidney shot; gasping as his side seized up in pain, muscles screaming, stomach twisting. He hissed, trying to keep in the tears and attempting to control his nausea, feeling seconds away from vomiting.

Deep breaths calmed him, and he struggled to take in oxygen; forcing his body to relax, only to whimper slightly as a hand snatched a fistful of hair once again.

Dmitri's golden eyes shone in amusement. "I wonder, seeing as you should be in intensive care from all of your wounds. Broken ribs, concussion, gunshot- very strange that you could still fight back so fiercely. Just to talk to Ivan. What did you say, I wonder?"

Matthew kept his eyes closed, swallowing thickly as his stomach twisted once more, sweat beading at his brow from the exertion. "Better yet," Mihailov said, tone dropping a few octaves threateningly. "Was it worth it?"

_Yes_. Matthew wanted to growl, and that thought, honestly, only wavered slightly as he opened his eyes to see a four-inch knife brandished in front of his shone in the light, polished and sharpened to perfection, an elegant design carved in the blade. The handle looked to be made of dark mahogany wood, embellished with gold lining.

It was not a practical knife- not something for everyday use, it didn't fold up for easy or safe storage, nor did it hold any surprises. However, Matthew supposed that it did its job just as well as any other of its kind.

His wide eyes traced the weapon, all thoughts frozen as the cold side of the metal tapped him on the nose playfully, and Dmitri's chuckle, sadistic and cruel, echoed beside him. "Do you like it? It belonged to my great-grandfather. He was a very clever man; very strong and respected by many. He would have hated you," he said lightly.

The weapon slid across the Canadian's lips, past the chin, until the point pushed dangerously at his neck. "He hated weakness and kindness. However, I have to say- just between you and me," he leaned down as if to whisper a secret, kneeling beside the Canadian and smiling as if they were two friends casually hanging out. "I always wanted at least one person to… be kind to. My great-grandfather never married, and he didn't exactly take his women with consent." He laughed again, as if that was funny. "I don't agree with that. I mean, surely I've had women- men too. But I've always hoped I would find that one person to love; an Angel."

The hand in his hair released, sliding down Matthew's chest and across his waist, carefully untying the strip of silk that held his robe together. "I think that person could have been you. After all… You already care for a monster. Ivan and I are _so_ much alike, we really are."

Matthew closed his eyes again, disgusted with the man before him. He didn't want to hear this, and he didn't believe it. Ivan was different; he could care- even if he had been cruel to others, he was never cruel to his people. Ivan, as a Nation, loved Russia, the land and the people he represented. Dmitri cared for nothing, and nobody. Mihailov was demented- insane, and disgusting.

"We're both so lonely."

Canada paused.

"We're both so out of touch with the world nowadays. Living in the past, wishing that the days in which we were stronger returned. When we had family to care for, people to protect."

Mihailov's words were eerily familiar, and Canada wanted to shake his head, wanted to scream out his protests. Dmitri was wrong! The issues they were dealing with may have been similar, but Ivan's way of coping with his problems set him apart. Matthew could make the presumption that Ivan hadn't killed someone in over a year. Dmitri, obviously, had no qualms about committing murder, especially for such petty problems. Ivan had an excuse, at least!

"You still cared about him, though; cried for him, tended to his wounds… you showed compassion. I only wished you could do the same for me. So far, you've been a great disappointment. Your eyes; you don't look at me like you look at Ivan. You show such disrespect."

The lapels of his robe were pulled apart, showing the pale chest contrasting against the blood red silk pooling around him. "So, perhaps, I just have to make you love me, if you fear me enough…"

The knife at his collar-bone suddenly pushed in, the skin slicing easily under the sharp blade, blood seeping free. Matthew couldn't even protest as he felt the weapon drag down, leaving a line of red behind it.

Closing his eyes tightly, Matthew could only hope. For what, he didn't even know anymore. To be free, to feel numb, to be invisible, to see Ivan again, to be back in his country, watching the snowfall, worrying about pancakes and Kumajirou- he just… _hoped_.

…Thank You…

Sorry for the wait! I know there were complications in getting it out, but no worries, life has calmed and I'm back on track. Reading to write! Especially since this week is Spring Break for me, so I've got the time. I plan to start on another little Special too, for those watching the Group Page. :)

Enjoy the read~!

_Translations_:

Извините (Russian): Sorry

"Vas chier (French): Fuck you…

Si c'est ça que tu veux (French) : If that's what you want

Laisses-moi tranquille (French): Leave me alone!

_Disclaimer_: I do not own!


	27. Quatre: Four

Chapter 27: Quatre: Four

Kumajirou wandered the house listlessly, too restless to sleep any more, especially with the commotion in the living room. His nose still burned with the iron smell of blood; the room he'd left seemed filled with the scent, but he knew the man who'd spilled it was fine. He'd watched him throughout the night, knowing he was important, and yet forgetting why. He didn't remember who the man was; Kumajirou even forgot what he had been doing before- how did he end up in that room?

The big human he accompanied was a stranger, but one the bear felt he could trust. His scent was familiar; a strong musky one, a mix of very faint cologne and a hint of vodka. He was, by far, the better smelling human; seeing as the others smelled of meat, tea, and perfume; strong spices that caused him to sneeze. The smells may not have been so bad, especially as he'd been around them many times before; but the loudness accompanying them usually made him more irritable, along with the fact that most of those humans ignored him anyway.

Kumajirou liked attention; at least, he liked the soft petting and foods gifted to him.

He passed the living room without so much as a glance, his nose twitching and ears flattening against his skull to dampen the noise. He climbed the stairs one by one, hating the human contraption; and yet, he was long since used to them- despite his short legs and small frame, he could have rushed up the wooden escalator without preamble.

He didn't have the energy to do so now.

For some reason the animal didn't understand, he felt… dull. As if the world was suddenly _wrong_, and he didn't belong there. There was something missing- a warmth around him, a peculiar sweetness, a soft voice. That _person, _the one who cared for him and loved him—where was he?

Placing both front paws on the stair, he pulled the rest of his body up before moving on to the next step, feeling his body's slow movements and still wondering why he felt so drained. His friend, whatever his name was, told him he was lazy; and Kumajirou didn't deny it before, he liked to sleep and eat- but when he wanted the energy, he certainly had it. Now, though, the mysterious reservoir seemed empty and he suddenly had no desire to walk all the way up this human paraphernalia.

What was the point in going up these stairs, anyway? What was waiting for him up there? He forgot.

His chest hurt; the furred body shivered as a flash of pain raced through his form, and the bear paused in his ascent to lie down, pressing his underbelly to the wood beneath him; an instinctual move when an animal was attacked. There was no enemy, though, and the bear could see that he was not bleeding.

He didn't understand, and he whined lowly as his belly churned. He felt sickly, reminiscent of the time he'd had too much candy; but he knew he didn't have sugar- he'd been good lately, he ate only what he was supposed to.

Where was that guy who took care of him? Didn't he hear him? He was in pain, that meant he was entitled to be carried to bed, warm and comfy, a hand running through his coat until he fell asleep. Did the man not hear him?

He whined again, louder this time as his chest squeezed once more; the sound was forlorn and heartbreaking, a plea for help.

There were no footsteps, no calls of his name or whatever variation it was that day. Kumajirou lowered his head, resting it on the next step up, refusing to move as the little pains in his chest continued. He couldn't help but smell what was in front of his nose, and he took another breath, sorting through the various scents until he recognized a very important one.

His friend's trademark scent: sweet maple and the warmth of baked goods. It was faint, the owner had long since passed and Kumajirou couldn't help but feel betrayed; why did his friend leave him? He'd never been separated from the man without good reason, and never for such a long time without _any_ form of contact. And this pain…

It was all so _wrong_, and he hated it- he wanted to rip it to shreds, whatever it was, but he couldn't- he didn't even know where to begin. His mind couldn't come to terms and understand anything any more; he didn't know the who or why, where or when. What would happen to him now?

He had no other purpose but to protect and serve his friend; since the beginning of time, the duty had fallen to him. To care for the child, protect and nurture, despite the fact that he was an animal better built for the glaciers of the North.

His kind thrived in the snow, hunted and lived their lives with a single-mindedness he had long since left behind. Not knowing how or why he was different- why didn't he age? Who chose him for this task, and why? In such a time where humans ruled the world, where he, an animal, was forced to adapt to new habitats, new people- he wasn't needed.

Kumajirou forgot many things, but he remembered how he had taken responsibility in caring for the boy he was charged with- his fur kept him warm, his hunting offered him food, his company kept him sane. It was different now. The boy- _Canada_ – could do such things himself.

His purpose was obsolete.

The only thing he offered him now was company- protection from a different kind of danger, the people who would do harm. _He had failed in that, hadn't he?_

Would he disappear with Canada?

He didn't want to find out. Kumajirou wanted his friend back, he wanted another chance to do what he was supposed to: to protect and comfort. Kumajirou was the first; the humans attempting the same (the ones bickering away in the living room), they came after. Sadly, he knew they had the resources to do such a thing far quicker than an animal…

A distant _clack_ sounded in his sensitive ears, and the furred appendages flicked to listen more intently as it repeated. It wasn't loud, quite dulled through the walls of the house, a shuffling of cloth and the strange noise of… footsteps?

The squeak of a door was heard, and the _clack_ing became a rhythm, the noise growing in volume as the object approached the stairway.

Despite the weakness in his bones, Kumajirou forced his head up, staring blankly at the top of the stairs, curious of who it could be. As far as the bear knew, everyone was in the living room, squabbling still. The scent of perfume- subtle to human noses, but an evolved quality to identify things in animals- it was familiar, and his first reaction was to growl, even before the sight of black high-heeled shoes stepped into view.

Dark stockings, navy blue dress adorned with white trimming, and long, straight, platinum blond hair- almost white in the light. The woman at the landing was beautiful, her hair combed, not one strand out of place; her dress was pressed neatly, and she held the suitcase in her right hand easily, not at all hindered by the weight. Her posture and the way she presented herself screamed aristocratic; the perfect example of a noble woman.

Her features were smooth, her form thin, but far from malnourished; what little makeup she wore accentuated her dark blue eyes, a rare color. And the dress complemented the small waist, wide hips, and full breasts.

This was a figure women were said to die for, and truly, according to everyone else who knew her, men and women were said to have fallen in love with her from a mere glance. However, a simple phrase of wisdom, "beauty is only skin deep," could never apply to anyone else as well as it did for her. As beautiful as Natalya Alfroskaya was, her heart was said to be as cold as ice.

Those once entrancing eyes lost their allure as she looked at the bear before her; her expression didn't change from a blank slate and yet, somehow, you could still feel her glaring disgust- as if the animal before her was more of an insect.

Kumajirou attempted the human expression of a glare right back, but he felt that the effort was a useless endeavor, and simply let his head fall back to the step with no more than a grumble; tucking his legs closer to his body, he continued to protect the underside of his torso, the pain still twisting under the surface. It was not a pain he couldn't bear- there was no sharp sting or crushing, no sudden flashes. A simple rolling, uncomfortable sensation, as if his organs were seconds away from switching positions with each other; but he felt, if he moved, it would set off a more violent chain reaction.

Kumajirou spent a long moment lying there, ignoring the woman who stared at him coldly and the feeling in his gut, and simply pretended to be tired. He'd slept on a stairway before; though he preferred a bed, of course, there were stranger places he had napped in.

"Are you in pain?"

Even her voice seemed angelic at first; light, soothing, ladylike. However, there was a slight demeaning tone in her words, suggesting she had not asked her question out of concern, but… of humor? Was she glad he was hurt?

A rustle of cloth, and she lowered her suitcase to the ground without much sound, her body following gracefully, placing her knees on the wood and leaning over the animal's body a few steps below her. "Is Canada in pain?"

That same tone- as if she were _amused-_ and Kumajirou growled, his muzzle twitching with the desire to bare his teeth. Belarus only hummed, placing her hands neatly in her lap. A silence loomed between them as Kumajirou tried to look threatening despite his weak position, and Belarus watched him calculatingly.

The bear wondered why she was there- to make fun of him? He would be sure to bite her as she passed him on the stairway if it was so; he would not tolerate her insults.

Her mouth opened slightly, as if about to say something, before closing once more, a perturbed look on her once blank features. She let out a huff, standing once more, seemingly frustrated for some reason and yet hiding it behind a steeled face. "Ivan cannot do everything by himself, I am afraid. I pray he does not hear me saying such, or take it wrongly. My brother is a very busy, very strong Nation. Your _master's_ disappearance has shaken him- for what reason, I do not know."

She looked to her right, peering over the railing of the landing, a part of the living room in view. "Whoever has taken Canada has hurt my brother. For that, he shall pay. I may also take it upon myself to save your pathetic excuse for a Nation as well. Vanya has admitted to caring about him…" For a second, her face slipped to show _sadness_, before defaulting back to an angry glare. "Perhaps my brother will love me if I return the boy and defeat this presumed enemy."

Turning from the view (only a peek at her brother's white hair over the beige couch he sat on), she retrieved her suitcase and stepped down, her heels placed merely five inches from Kumajirou's face, defenseless ankles that the bear could sink his teeth into in a heartbeat.

Only, he made no move to carry out his threat; coal-black eyes closed, and a small sigh escaped through his nose, another indication of his exhaustion. He felt the woman pass him, ears swiveling on his head to follow the sound. Her descent paused near the bottom. "If you wish to assist, this is the only time to do so."

_What? _Looking up, forcing his muscles to hold the weight of his head, he stared at her back, blinking in slight shock. Was she was offering to take him with her to find Canada?

Part of him regarded that with suspicion; she was never nice to him or his friend, she had an ulterior motive- but if that _worked_ then he didn't care what that motive was. Kumajirou glanced back to the living room, listening to the round of voices that had seemed to go nowhere. They were sitting around talking, and the woman in front of him was leaving- he saw that as a more productive action than any other, and he wanted to be involved.

"Want to go."

Belarus continued on, her heels _clack_ing once more. "Then come."

Kumajirou took a deep breath, readying his body for the effort; for he knew the woman would not carry him, something he didn't wholly want her to do anyway. Despite the instinct to lie down and wait for the pain in his belly to pass, he understood the woman would not wait for him either. On shaky legs, he stood, pulling himself up and slowly but surely turning around, stepping down the wooden steps, and disliking the drop in his stomach each time.

The front door opened, allowing a gust of cold wind in, flurries of snowflakes slipping inside the heated house. Kumajirou waddled over, a few feet away-

"Kumajirou," a voice called. Belarus paused, looking back with astonishment.

"Brother."

The bear took advantage of the delay and lay down once more, watching the ajar door in front of him with intensity, letting his body recover from the energy spent. He panted slightly, shaking somewhat from the strain.

A hand on top of his head granted a glance up into the face of Ivan Braginski; the Russian had slowly lowered himself to pet the Polar Bear, a frown on his lips. "What is wrong?"

"Hurts," the animal mumbled, his black eyes straying back to the door; watching through the opened crack as the snow outside fell lazily. He felt nauseated and uncomfortably warm, yet his limbs shook subtly as if he were cold.

There was a slight twitch of the hand, the fingers tightening in his fur. "Where?"

"Chest, tummy; feel bad."

"Da," Russia responded, voice quiet and remorseful. The man's lips tightened, words escaping him; there were no excuses. "It will go away, I promise."

"He is sad and lonely," the bear continued. "He is afraid."

Large arms, strong and usually considered dangerous, gently wrapped around him; they slid around the small animal, supporting the area that was said to be hurting, and hesitantly picked him up, considerate of the pain. Kumajirou was placed in the warm lap of Ivan, and the Russian shifted into a seated position, softly embracing the bear as his fingers soothingly coursed through the white coat.

"He doesn't need to be afraid," Ivan murmured, pushing the lower half of his face into the white hair at Kumajirou's neck. "It'll be over soon."

They stayed like that for a long moment, Kumajirou comfortable in warm arms- even if they weren't the arms of Canada, he felt safe and he needed the comfort. Something told him Ivan needed the same; the Russian had all but buried his face into the bear's fur, an act Canada would do when feeling sad or lonely.

Belarus stood frozen by the door, watching with slightly wide eyes, remaining still and quiet, hoping to not be noticed- Ivan's walls were down, and she could wish nothing but to see him so open more often. He looked so small, sitting in the middle of the foyer, hugging an animal so tenderly, eyes closed as his visage nuzzled into fur. He was so peaceful, so kind, so childlike, and heartbreaking in that moment.

She felt a sting of jealousy that a _bear_ could bring such an expression to her brother's face, when she had been trying so hard for years to be the object of affection such as this. However, for the sake of the situation, she allowed it to pass.

Her brother was so very stressed at the moment; injured and trapped against the blackmail of a kidnapped nation. He needed the peace, and while she would rather such comfort come from her, she would be happy that he received such relief at all.

"Oi, Russia, let's go!"

All three in the foyer seemed to slowly return to reality; the spell broken, and the clock ticking.

A small second of Ivan breathing in and releasing a long sigh before slowly straightening, violet eyes more calm and collected than they had been. Kumajirou lifted his head from its resting place on the man's shoulder, flicking his tongue out to gently lap at the Russian's cheek. A thank you, a last sense of comfort, a sign of affection- he had done so for Canada often, and he would receive the same small smile in return.

"Спасибо. Я это исправлю," A pause, and he switched to English. "Do you want to sleep somewhere? Bed or-"

"I am fine. Feel better now."

Ivan watched the bear's face, looking for emotion to see if the bear really was feeling better or not. The pain hadn't simply disappeared; but the animal looked more relaxed, as if he gained a bit of strength from their shared moment. Russia gave a small nod, gently setting the bear back to the wooden floor.

Kumajirou stood with less trouble now; and even though the churning in his stomach continued, he had the confidence to take small steps in the direction of the door he had been so adamant to reach. Ivan watched with perceptive eyes, feeling a whole mixture of emotions he rarely experienced and couldn't name.

The white round ball of fur took another step to a pair of shoes. Navy high heels- Ivan held in his sigh, aware of her presence but unsure if he should acknowledge it. His decision was made for him; he looked up, connecting their gaze. "Belarus," he stated, wondering what he could possibly say to her. "Watch him?"

His words were supposed to come out as more of a warning, knowing she didn't exactly get along with the animal sitting at her feet; but the bear was in pain, and Ivan did not want him left alone. He could not order her to do so, however, and as much as he wanted someone to look over Kumajirou, Belarus was dangerous in many ways; could she be trusted with his care?

"I will."

Well… that was it, right? Ivan stood with hesitance, eyes gazing from Natalya to Kumajirou, nodding to himself at the end, as if agreeing with his thoughts: he would trust Belarus with this. There was nothing else to do. "We'll be back in a few hours."

Natalya nodded, saying her farewell; _I will not be here when you return, brother._

He walked off, joining the others out of sight, and Belarus turned to the bear sitting at her feet; dark blue to coal black. "You still wish to come?"

"Yes."

She bent, sliding one arm underneath the animal and lifting his weight easily. She was not as gentle as Ivan had been but Kumajirou merely winced- he wouldn't complain if she carried him to the car; the trek through the snow outside would be nearly impossible for him.

Belarus peeked through the crack in the door, listening to the _slam_ of car doors as the four man team of angry nations packed into Germany's SUV. The vehicle started to life, and the tires slid snow behind them as they left the driveway.

Once they were out of sight, she slipped outside with dainty purposeful steps, a suitcase in one hand, and a polar bear in the other. She had no trouble walking down the few steps, and despite her attire, seemed unaffected by the cold. Flakes billowed around her, whipping her long hair in all directions, her shoes crunching as she sank a good five inches in the snow, but she trudged on; past the tire tracks of the SUV, past the gate to the entire estate. Just on the other side of the street was a black Rolls-Royce.

As soon as she was near enough, the driver's side door popped open and a very suspicious man in a suit stepped out. Inconspicuous short black hair, black sunglasses, expensive black watch on his wrist as he quietly took the suitcase from Natalya's hand- Kumajirou couldn't help but think of a secret CSI agent, though he never cared to make human comparisons before. The man smelled of leather and ink; probably spent his time behind a desk unless otherwise ordered.

Still, the man was absolutely silent as he did his duty; a proper gentleman, opening the door for Natalya to slip into the backseat, and storing her luggage in the trunk before settling in the front of the vehicle to drive. There were no directions from Belarus; he seemed to already know where to go, and he pulled away from the nearly empty house.

Kumajirou sat next to Natalya, as she was warm and he felt more than a little uncomfortable in the unfamiliar setting with the silence. He would glance up to her face every few minutes, but other than fixing her hair, she didn't move or stray her gaze from the tinted window.

The vehicle moved easily through the streets, the driver taking his time; and although Kumajirou was horrible at remembering things, he didn't recognize the buildings they passed, and soon, they came far and between. Soon enough, there were nothing but trees on either side of them and it seemed like, when they finally slowed to a stop, it was in the middle of nowhere. They stopped on the shoulder of the highway- no building in sight. The car was turned off, and the driver stepped out to open the door for Natalya, who once again picked Kumajirou up in her arms without complaint.

Kumajirou looked around, seeing nothing but the deserted road and forest around them, and panicking as he wondered if he had made a horrible choice in coming with Belarus. What was she going to do to him?

A car sounded in the distance, and he, along with the human and nation watched as a white vehicle slowed as it drew near; it crossed the empty opposing lane to stop directly across from them, and a minute later, two dark forms stepped out. Through the falling snow, the features were not recognizable; but as they walked toward the Rolls-Royce, Kumajirou would make out how thin and short one of them was, with a certain shape usually reminiscent of a woman.

As they came closer, the group could pick out the features: long black hair, a smooth face with dark brown eyes, skin milky white. Much like Natalya's, her hair whipped around in the wind, and her heeled boots sunk into the snow. She did not seem bothered, however, and as they stopped a few feet away, she merely watched them with cautious eyes.

"Miss Natalya," the other one greeted; definitely a male, and upon closer inspection, a big muscled one, with skull trimmed dark hair and a scar running from his upper lip to the cheekbone. The scar tissue twisted, part of his mouth seemed permanently disfigured in a not-quite smile. Despite his intimidating, angry looking nature, he nodded respectfully and held something out for Natalya's driver to take.

Although it was obvious who served whom, Kumajirou could see a certain boundary between the relationships of everyone present. The man who drove the Rolls-Royce seemed to be a personal chauffeur/ protector of Natalya's, and he did his job efficiently and silently. Someone Belarus seemed to trust, even if he was human. An individual separated from her government perhaps; one that did not answer to anyone other than her. Kumajirou was unsure if that could happen or was acceptable- Matthew never had a protector like that (that is what he was for… so maybe that was why he didn't- he was starting to wish he knew more about this kind of stuff).

The driver tucked the received paper, a single sheet it looked like, into the pocket of his blazer, opening the jacket wide to clearly show his actions, wanting no misinterpretations of a violent threat against the two. With the same hand, he retrieved a clear bag of colorful paper- _money_, a lot of it- and handed it to the man.

However, this time, the woman reached out to take the item, pulling back the plastic wrapping enough to flick through the thin paper currency. She looked to her assumed partner afterwards, then Belarus. "Should you need us again, you know how to contact me."

Natalya nodded. "I would not return to the residence for another day or so. A raid has been planned and is most likely already in effect. Your services have been appreciated, Olivia. Thank you."

With another nod of gratitude, the maid of Mihailov's household turned away, the large man with the scarred face following close behind. They returned to their car, and in the next second, the vehicle rushed off in the direction they had been going before their stop.

Natalya hummed, turning to get back in the still car, annoyed at the wind more than anything; the cold, she could welcome. Kumajirou was inclined to agree; he wanted back in the car, where he could wiggle from her hold and attempt to organize the multitude of thoughts in his mind. He hoped he could remember them later; with so much going on, he felt paranoid and unsteady, and with his bad memory, it just made everything worse. He was useless enough already, his only purpose was one he couldn't fulfill- even the hateful woman holding him was more prepared…

Suddenly, the wind that gave everyone so much trouble at the moment changed directions; it was slight, unnoticeable even, and Kumajirou would have carried on with his depressive critical thoughts. However, it just so happened that a scent he was very much familiar with carried on with the current. Something that his mind instantly latched onto in desperation, and his body seemingly reacted on his own. "Canada," he yelled, pushing with his back legs; in one fell swoop, he jumped from Belarus' hold and landed in the cold packed snow.

The pain in his underbelly was ignored as he took off, farther up the road; his name was called behind him, but he didn't dare stop. His nose and intuition led the way, taking him up the road a good ways, until he couldn't see the Rolls-Royce or the two people he came with; he didn't care about them in the first place.

As the wind changed once again, the scent he was following so intently disappeared, and he stopped in his tracks. The storm of snow fell around him and the icy chill of the air crept under the thickness of his fur. He froze, nose in the air, hoping against everything that he would catch the smell of his friend. He looked around, black eyes scrutinizing the white blanketed landscape around him. The road lay to the right, cold and deserted- the beginning of a forest to his left, dark and intimidating in the storm.

He took a hesitant step forward, heart pounding in his aching chest. _Where_?

Canada was nowhere in sight; he was alone. _It was here!_

The crunch of tires sounded, the noise getting louder the closer the vehicle came, and Kumajirou growled, angry at their interference- if his nose or eyes were useless, then he could _listen_ for Canada- if Matthew called for help-

"Kumajirou, get in the car." The pretty voice of Belarus was twisted, more of a held back snarl; the bear didn't care to look at the way she glared at him to make her point. "_Now_!"

"No," he yelled back. "He's here!"

She made a face. "No, he's not."

"I know he is!"

"No," she insisted. "Your master is on a charter plane flying across the whole of Russia's Nation. If we want to arrive there by tomorrow, we must leave now. Whatever lead you had was false-"

"He's _here_!"

Kumajirou took off again, having to hop through the thick snow, paws spread wide. He didn't know where he was going any more; a strange sense of direction led him to a small mound of white placed in the middle of the clearing between the road and forest. His first thought was to climb it and look around; height gave him more advantage, didn't it?

Halting abruptly, his body tensed; a shiver laced his spine as something inside him told him to _stop_, and he looked around slowly. He didn't know if it was a foreboding sense of danger or something regarding Matthew, but he tested the air again, body shaking as he practically _tasted_ a sweetness that belonged to Canada.

His nose tracked it, and he turned slightly to stare at a regular patch of snow, it seemed. Yet, he was sure it was the source of the smell. With great hesitance and hope he took a few more steps closer, bringing a paw down to swipe at the top layer of snow.

A car door slammed behind him, and he could hear footsteps coming toward him. "Kumajirou," Belarus snapped. He growled in response, knowing that there was no way in hell she would take him from his goal; he started digging, scooping snow with his paws and slinging it away. "I didn't bring you with me so you could dig in the dirty snow like an uncivilized _dog_. Stop this and get in the car or I will leave you."

"Fine. Go." Kumajirou wasn't holding her here, and if she was going to be so rude and snarky then he would appreciate getting away from her anyway. There was something here; he knew it, and he didn't care if she didn't believe him.

She stood there, glaring at him, anger present on her face. "Ivan charged me with looking after you! He would not be pleased if I left you here; you must come with me."

"I won't tell," he said; he didn't care about getting her in trouble with her brother. His digging became more frantic as he knew he was getting closer to the ground, already three feet deep.

Natalya growled, crossing her arms and looking incredibly impatient as she waited for him, as she knew she could do nothing else. Therefore, with glaring eyes, she watched him sink farther under the blanketed snow, piles of the white ice flung on either side of the forming crater. She waited, admittedly feeling cold now that she had spent so long exposed to the wind; her feet especially, as they were now wet with the melted ice. The longer she stood there, the more impatient she became.

She… could say she felt bad for the polar bear- not aloud, but to herself. Like Ivan, she may have realized that Canada and the animal before her had a bond stronger than many others did; Kumajirou was acting so different than he was before. She hadn't known the animal for long, and personally didn't care about his well-being; but even she knew the repercussions of Canada's situation could be potentially bad news for every Nation, involved or not.

Nation representatives getting kidnapped was nothing that had happened before- not that she could recall. However, the percentage odds of becoming targeted by criminals were the same for them as every other human- nobody but a few chosen government officials knew how special they were; everyone else regarded them as normal humans. The probability of getting hit by a car one day was the same as any other- in fact, she heard it had happened to some unfortunate Scandinavian once; a little bending of the truth and it was considered a close call, nothing more.

Things happened; unfortunate chance, a bad roll of the dice, whatever one wants to call it, and whatever the reasons for the situation, the only thing they could do now was salvage what they could and try to make a convincing lie when it came time to explain. Still, Belarus could sense that this would be brought up in the next World Meeting; something about being prepared and being aware of situations such as these. It was going to cause a headache.

Much like the one she had now.

"Are you done yet?"

Kumajirou mumbled a stubborn "no" as he threw another paw-full of snow. It landed before Belarus with a particular sound that caught both Natalya and Kumajirou's attention. He stood on his back legs, looking over the surface at the section of snow the sound had come from. Natalya knelt next to it, bringing a bare hand forward, brushing the light snow away; and upon seeing a small strip of gold, she reached in to pull the object out.

Frost clung to the metal and lens, but it was easily recognizable as a pair of glasses, a certain possession of Canada's. She turned the spectacles over; rubbing built-up ice from the glass and bringing them up to experimentally look through them. Natalya didn't know what she expected to see- prescription strength vision or something unique to Canada's world; imagine her surprise when she realized that they were nothing but magnifying glasses.

"Far-sighted," Kumajirou said, pulling himself out of the crater and sitting before her, looking up with wide eyes at the piece of Canada he had found.

She inspected them for a few seconds; watching them closely even as she spun on her heel to get back in the car, Kumajirou following without complaint, jumping in when she held the door open for him. "Usually Nations have a problem seeing anything _other_ than what is right in front of them. Canada can only see far away?"

"Can only see others."

Slamming the door after she was comfortably seated in the beige leather interior, Natalya looked at the bear with slight skepticism. Canada needed help seeing _himself_?

…oOo…

"Hey! Stop that, Gilbert!"

"Chill out, West; it's not like I've never handled an AK before," Prussia snorted, noisily loading the standard assault rifle manually, foregoing the clip.

"Ja, the last time you messed with one you shot out half of the basement wall, put it down!"

"No fun."

"I can't believe these are Russian made," America stated, a pout on his face. "They're good; why couldn't Americans have invented them?"

"'Cause Americans are _dumb_," Gilbert snickered.

Alfred reached behind the seat to land a punch on Prussia's arm. "Shut the hell up, ex-Nazi."

"Pft, don't hate for telling the truth-"

"Who's been to the moon?"

"What does that even have to do with anything?"

"Well, if you were so smart, why isn't _your_ flag on there, huh? Oh wait, you don't even have one anymo-"

"You did _not_ just- bitch, I'll-"

Russia groaned from behind the driver's seat. "Shut up, both of you. We're going on a serious mission and you're arguing like a bunch of children."

Germany sighed, turning onto the small gravel road Prussia carelessly pointed out at the last second before turning to snap at Russia for telling them what to do. Ludwig assumed it was just his annoying habit of making things more difficult than need be, rather than actual anger. If there was one piece of advice he had for any poor soul, it was that Prussia, America, and Russia should _never_ be in the same car.

Ever.

Bad plan.

"Focus! Russia is right, now is not the time to bicker about inconsequential things."

"Big words, brother, simplify them so the star and striped idiot understands."

Ludwig sent a glare to the albino in the passenger seat. "I said, quiet." He turned to look at Alfred as well. "Both of you."

"Fine, whatever, dude. Let's just do this; sweet justice."

A few seconds of agreed silence from everyone; nothing but the crunch of gravel under tires as they made the long trek down the isolated narrow road to the Mihailov estate. However, something had been bothering Ivan throughout the entire ride, and he couldn't keep the need to talk about it inside. He broke the peace with a cleared throat. "Listen… Don't shoot who you don't have to." He stubbornly looked outside as he said this, not wanting the people he didn't particularly trust to see his emotions.

These were his people. No matter how bad they were, they were part of him; the criminals were just as important to him as the politicians- just as valuable in his life force. He had said he would kill Mihailov, and everyone involved who knew what he or she had done; that was true.

That did not mean it wouldn't hurt him.

In a way, he felt like he was betraying a part of himself; even as his mind spoke logic, his heart screamed that it was treason. These people were cruel, and cruelty bred; they were in every city and nation- but letting the law convict them was different than outright dealing with them yourself.

Ivan was supposed to protect his people, he had their interests at heart; he would do anything for them, as their life was his own. As such, he didn't know what was worse: killing them himself, or letting others do it for him- Prussia and America… giving them guns and allowing them to shoot a part of himself- it tore away his pride, made him sick to his stomach, even though he knew this _had_ to be done.

If they didn't do this, far worse things would happen.

The car's silence suddenly turned remorseful, as the three men acknowledged Ivan's words, _understanding _them as only Nations could. Alfred reached over to pat his shoulder before looking out his own window with a blank, determined face.

Prussia nodded. "Ja… There it is."

Germany swerved off the marked road and into a narrow break between trees, parking and cutting off the engine. Germany pocketed the keys, stepping out of the vehicle. "Everyone ready?"

There were agreements from the others, but the excitement from before was gone; this was serious they knew, and America and Prussia, no matter how they hated Russia, seemed to agree on making it as respectful as possible. This wasn't a war; their goals weren't to kill unless necessary, they were meant to find clues about Matthew's whereabouts and hinder Mihailov's resources.

Ivan shouldered his rifle, an identical AK 47 to the others, standard military weaponry he owned; his face was blank, a barrier he placed over his turbulent emotions. His boots crunched on the snow as he passed the others, weaving around the trees to peer closer at the mansion Matthew had been held in. His mauve eyes were harsh as he glared at the structure, and he breathed in deeply; he could feel the heat of anger in his chest swell. He would do this- _it wouldn't be the first time he'd killed his own people._

He felt a part of him slip away; the normal part of him that dealt with normal affairs, as if it ran away to hide at the back of his mind, slamming an imaginary door and leaving a more sinister piece of him in control. The side of himself that would more than happily set things right, even if it meant murder; a soldier, with no remorse or fear, just the way he had been trained.

As America, Prussia, and Germany followed his lead, they said nothing about the way his presence changed, how his eyes seemed more red than purple; they simply pulled the rifle strap across their arm to free their hands as they effortlessly climbed the fenced-in estate.

"Who do you think would have more of an idea where Mihailov went? The ones working on the plane, or the actual crew inside the house?" Prussia asked quietly.

Ivan shook his head slightly. "We'll ask them both."

America brushed hair from his forehead. "Should we be worried about the cameras?"

"Нет, let them see us coming. It will change nothing."

They separated, keeping good distance between them as they advanced on the house; Germany and Prussia to the right of Ivan, America on the left. They readied their weapons, waiting for the group inside as they were warned of their approach.

It didn't take long for a few men to rush out, disbelief on their faces as they stared at the four men steadily getting closer. They were shocked, unexpecting, and unprepared; their weapons consisted of pistols and shotguns, and from the looks of it, they didn't have much practice with _using_ those firearms.

They had their orders, but there was skepticism in carrying them out to the point of actual battle; they seemed to look from their weapons, to the four nations, and to their superior with dazed doubt. Clumsily, with the hesitance of an untrained force, they got organized.

They made a line outside the house, holding their weapons out shakily as a person on the end yelled out orders. Workers that serviced the aircraft in the hangar made a hasty retreat, running behind the guards and into the house for cover, panic on their faces.

"Стоять! Что вы тут делаете?" the man in charge yelled out.

The four nations paused and Ivan spoke up, voice loud and cold across the distance between them. "Where has Dmitri Mihailov gone?"

The line of guards began to fidget, but the leader growled. "You are Ivan Braginski, da?" he asked in broken English, accent heavily slurred. "I cannot tell you this."

"Then you will die," Ivan replied. To further emphasize his words, he raised his weapon, pointing the barrel directly at the man. "Tell me."

The man took a step back, surprise, and a hint of fear in his eyes. He stuttered, even as he bravely attempted a sense of loyalty. "I c-cannot."

Ivan's red eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, bending down to kneel in the snow, better balancing the rifle to take aim. He pulled the trigger, and the loud sound of gunfire echoed throughout the air. His shot hit its mark, and the leader of the little defensive line fell over with a cry, holding his leg at the knee, blood rapidly staining the snow beneath his writhing form.

"Shoot them!"

The first shot came from one of the big men at the end; whether a stupid thought of heroism or out of panic from the stressed situation, he blindly shot to the right, missing Alfred by at least five feet. The American didn't even pause as he brought up the rifle, settling the butt of the weapon snug against his shoulder, looking down the sights before firing a shot.

In one millisecond the man was thrown back, a clean hole in his chest and without a doubt, either dead or dying. More hysteria spread through the line of guards; they weren't soldiers, they were petty criminals paid to kidnap and blackmail. This was over their heads; a few of them broke the line, running inside the house, claiming this was not in their job description.

There was no authority; their superior was down, and they had no idea how to carry on as the group of four nations resumed their advance on the estate. They clumped together, retreating in panic in front of the doorway. Gilbert took advantage of their close proximity, firing off a couple rounds right in the middle.

More screams of fear as the wounded fell, making it even more difficult for the group of guards to escape as they herded through the door. Germany moved in, and a few stray gunshots from the brave and panicked men that had the unfortunate fate of being at the back of the retreat passed to either side. One nicked him on the arm and he jerked in surprise, before glaring at the source and firing back. He didn't miss.

Gilbert, Ivan and Alfred covered the German as he reached the superior guard, still on the ground, and clocked him over the head with the back end of his rifle. It didn't knock the man out, but it definitely left him dazed and weak. "Dmitri Mihailov. Where is he?"

"Я не знаю."

The last of the guards scrambled inside the house, leaving the crying wounded and quiet dead on the doorstep, slamming the door behind them. "What did he say?"

Germany glanced over to see Ivan slightly out of breath, as if the short walk had winded him; Ludwig would have said something about the activity's stress on the Russian's wounds, but the serious disposition and red eyes were still present. Ivan was still so determined, so full of that potent rage- anything Ludwig said regarding his health wouldn't have been appreciated. "He said he doesn't know."

Russia took another step closer, bringing his rifle up and slamming the end of it on the man's injured knee. A loud cry was heard, followed by a choked sob Ivan ignored. "Where?"

"East! That is all I know. He… knows. You were com- he knows."

Gilbert growled. "So what if he was expecting us; he told you where he was going, didn't he?"

"No. I said, he knows. Did not t-tell me."

Ivan raised his weapon in threat.

"M-Magadanskaya Oblast, I think," he yelped, a desperate giving of information to keep from being hit once again. "Has a house there!"

Alfred gave a slightly curious look to Ivan. "Where is that?"

Russia clenched his teeth, rage clearly seen on his face. "It's a territory above Japan, on the other side of my Country."

Prussia cursed. "Could he be more specific?"

"That is all I know! I'm sorry. I know no more."

Ivan seethed silently, knowing the man spoke the truth. He shifted his weapon to quickly smash the end of it into the man's skull, knocking him out cold before he could even realize Ivan had even moved. Russia turned to make his way inside the house, opening the door wide, weapon at the ready in case any guards decided to stay behind. The other nations followed, and they quietly spread out to cover the rooms.

Prussia headed to the study, intent on breaking the safe like they had agreed on doing earlier. Germany took the stairs on the left, checking the bedrooms upstairs, and Alfred crept into the family room and connected Media room.

Ivan took the kitchen, peeking around the wall to the dining room and into the pantry, to be sure of no hiding guards ready to shoot him in the back. The door to the backyard gave him the view of the patio, and the few figures running for the gates in the distance.

He looked in the dark kitchen, passing by the cleaned countertops and big island in the middle, intent on heading for the door on the other side. Unless they had two pantries, this would be another room. Laundry, perhaps?

He kept the rifle steady with his right arm, using his left hand to swing the door open; all that met him was a staircase leading to a basement of sorts. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, he took the steps one at a time, not liking the narrowed path with little room to dodge; and he definitely did not like the way the wood groaned underneath his weight. The door at the end of the stairway swung open, and a guard with a pistol jumped out.

Ivan didn't hesitate to pull the trigger; the moment the door moved, he was ready. The man fell back without so much as a shout, and Russia stepped over his bloody corpse without care.

This room was definitely different from the others- it looked as if it were under renovation. The walls were bare of paint or wallpaper, the light above was florescent, the kind found in a hospital or store, and the electrical outlets were without plastic safety covering.

In the middle of the room, however, was a rather large bed; no headboard, or even sheets on it. A rough looking end table sat beside it, a lamp and ashtray set upon its surface. On the other side was a tall metal stand with hooks as if to hold something up. A television hung in the top corner of the room completed the small group of furniture.

It was strange, yes; but the state of the room didn't matter to Ivan. His red eyes were more focused on the bare mattress.

It was stained with blood.

He took slow steps toward it, reaching out with one hand to touch the dried splotches of red. _Matthew was here_.

The stairs behind him squeaked under a set of footsteps, and Ivan raised his rifle in response, growling low as vengeance warred in his mind. Rage and distress, sorrow and regret- _Matthew_ was _tortured_ here.

He didn't know what to do- he couldn't _do_ anything against Dmitri- every time he thought he got close to him, the bastard slipped away. Three days Matthew had been in the presence of _him_- blaming himself for something that was not his fault; alone, hurt- _his fault_.

He was _useless_! For all his power, nothing could be done! He wanted Dmitri _dead_, wanted to feel that man's life perish, see the light fade from his eyes…

What color were his eyes? He didn't even have a face to go with the name! He'd never _seen_ Mihailov- and yet there was so much strife, so much hatred and rage toward someone he didn't know anything about.

He simply wanted justice, retribution- _something_ over this son of a bitch who _dared_ to take what was his. He wanted his death so badly it hurt- the overwhelming need to release this anger, before he exploded; it was something he couldn't explain, or had ever felt before: this _frustration_.

"Ivan," the stranger on the stairs called. "It's me."

Alfred's cautious descent paused when he was greeted with the end barrel of an AK 47. His blue eyes widened in surprise before he suddenly lunged to the side, seconds before the barrel lit up with a three-foot spark as a bullet exploded from its chamber. Even as his eardrums rang, he snatched a hand out to capture the stock of the rifle, pulling it toward him and holding it steady. "Ivan!"

Russia tried to take his weapon back, growling as the American held on with more strength. "Give it to me," he snarled.

"Not after you almost shot me with it; calm down, Russia." Another tug. "I said chill the fuck out!"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"This is not the time for your shit," Alfred said lowly, leaning in to make sure he had Ivan's attention. He looked directly into the red eyes that shone with hatred, realizing just what he was dealing with. "Get a hold of yourself. You can't lose it here, you understand?"

"I'm fine!"

"No, you aren't. Breathe, Ivan. Clear your head."

Russia's glare told him he didn't appreciate being told what to do; but he did realize he was on the edge of insanity, and he knew it was not the time to let loose on his stability. It would solve nothing. So he took a deep breath in, and let it out shakily- he tried to think about something other than the desperation in his chest, the fear, and panic.

He felt dizzy, and he let go of his weapon; _let the American have it_, it was useless to him now. He leaned against the wall near the stairway, Alfred watching him with concern.

The rifles were shouldered, and a hand came up to settle on the Russian's elbow, keeping him steady. Blue eyes wandered around the room, looking for the reason _why_ Russia could have gone off the deep end just now. A choked sound was heard once the blood was seen, and America looked away with a pained expression.

More footsteps on the stairway, and America was the only one who cared to look up, beckoning Germany and Prussia down with a simple gesture. The four men easily filled the room, and the air seemed full of tension.

Nobody had anything to say. It all seemed like a wasted trip.

"Was there anything in the safe?" Alfred asked Gilbert; his naturally loud voice, for once, was subdued.

Gilbert flinched as if he had been struck. "A note," he murmured. Everyone looked at him for more of an explanation. "He knew we were coming." Prussia kept his gaze on the concrete floor, ruby eyes full of anguish. "I shouldn't have come here last night. He knew it was us. We could have gotten him if I didn't do something so _stupid_."

Ludwig murmured something to his brother in German, a comfort perhaps. Alfred shook his head, shifting closer to the bed, touching the blood faintly like Ivan had done before. "We'll find you, Mattie."

Russia didn't want to be in the room any longer. His eyes kept straying to the bed, imagining Matthew there, helpless and frightened. He didn't want the reminder of his failings right in front of him. Slipping away from the room, he painfully trekked up the stairs, the stitched wound in his side pulling his skin with each step.

When he reached the kitchen, he stopped to lean against the counter, breathing harshly. His phone started vibrating in his pocket, and he scrambled to reach for it, his hands shaking as he brought it up. For some reason or another his sight blurred, a heat burning behind his eyes as he shut them, shaking his head- _No_.

_No, no, no, no._

_Please_.

He reopened them, looking at his phone, and the burning intensified.

A new picture of Matthew.

…oOo…

Kumajirou had been on a plane many times before; sometimes Canada and he rode a private charter, other times he was forced onto a community flight where a bunch of people argued about his presence. This was more of the former: a small runway, no crowds or customs. No trouble in boarding the aircraft, and it seemed like the driver of the Rolls-Royce was also a pilot, because he was the only one around.

Belarus settled daintily in one of the large chairs that reclined, crossing her legs and looking at a sheet of paper quietly. Kumajirou sat in the chair next to her, looking out the window as the light whine of the plane's engines echoed in the background. At a pace that seemed slow in relation to their height, the black runway beneath them started to creep by.

Rustling from his left caught his attention, and he watched as Belarus pulled the pair of glasses they found earlier from her case beside her chair. "You said he saw others, not himself. Do you think he saw my brother? Is that why Vanya is so worried for him?"

Kumajirou couldn't answer that, but she wasn't expecting one.

"In any case, it's time to play a… what do you call it? Wild card?" She opened her phone, pushing a few buttons written on the paper and then holding it to her ear.

The bear beside her tilted his head slightly, ears easily picking up the ringing on the receiver. When the line on the other end picked up, the greeting was a deep tone of a male.

"Hello, is this Alec Zaytsev?" Belarus asked, her voice a light and innocent question, a tone Kumajirou had never heard from her before. "We met at the bar last night. Do you remember me?"

"Oh, yes! Natalya, right?"

"I'm surprised you remembered my name," she said with a light laugh that went completely against her character; beautiful and angelic, innocent and flirtatious. _Deceit_; she was one of the best at telling lies. "Um," she tried to sound hesitant, if a little unsure. "I was wondering if you'd like to get together sometime? Last night was great fun; I wouldn't mind meeting you again."

"Ah, I would love to take you out; unfortunately, I've been called to some last minute business, all the way in Susuman."

"I see. Such a pity, then. Well, perhaps when you get back, yes?"

"Of course. I would love that."

"Talk to you soon, Alec," she chirped before hanging up and pressing another button on the armrest between her and Kumajirou. "Yury, we're going to Susuman."

"Yes, ma'am."

Natalya turned to Kumajirou and patted him on the top of the head lightly. "It helps being a woman at times. Although, you wouldn't know that, would you?"

He tilted his head. "It helps being a bear sometimes, too. Nobody suspects."

Belarus blinked, and then a slight smirk painted her face. "Well, I suppose we all have our secrets, then."

…Thank You…

Here's the next chapter!~ My schedule has gotten pretty intense, so you guys are really lucky I'm so focused on this. Ha ha, it is all I can do in the two hours of free time in the mornings before school.

Again, I encourage everyone to watch the Giving In Facebook group page (link in my profile), it's faster, easier, and unlike reviews I answer comments as soon as I read them. Otherwise, I reply when I'm about to update again (2 week schedule typically). Also, while you're on my profile, check out some really cool fanart and things of this story. I got more~! :)

All your reviews are so amazing to read, I thank everyone! I'm glad this story has been so inspirational. You all rock! :3

By the way, the chapter name (Quatre) reminds me of Gundam Wing, my first obsessive Anime interest. Duo and Quatre were my favorite characters~

Translations:

Спасибо. Я это исправлю (Russian): Thank you. I will make it right.

Стоять! Что вы тут делаете? (Russian): Halt! Why are you here?

Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or any other copyrighted… _things_ in here, whatever they may be. But I have a friend, who knows a friend, who has a friend's _father_, who is a pilot, and he has a plane that I wish to steal. It's so pretty and fancy. Somehow, I think I would have better luck stealing a Porsche. And all this is inconsequential and I'm making no sense what's so ever, goodbye.


	28. Три: Three

Chapter 28: Три: three

"France, make yourself useful, will you? Get on the phone with our bosses and tell them we'll be staying another few days. They're expecting us to come in day after tomorrow and I doubt we'll be done before then."

"Ah, s-sure, Angleterre," Francis mumbled, straightening from his slumped position against the frame of the study doorway, pulling his flashy blue phone from his slacks distractingly.

Arthur frowned, glancing at the Frenchman's form, taking in the distraught expression and posture. He whispered a "be right back" to the human next to him and stood stiffly, his walk more of a light march as he pushed France out of the study and into the hall.

Francis looked to him, surprised, fingers pausing in the middle of inputting the digits required. He allowed Arthur to direct him into the empty living room, and then turned around inquisitively. Forest green eyes, a shade Francis would say was beautiful, if not hidden beneath those monstrous eyebrows- looked back with an annoyed flare.

"What are you doing?"

"Pardonnez-moi?"

"Don't mope. You always dramatize things," the Englishman hissed, trying to keep his anger quiet.

Francis took a moment to look surprised, "Wha-" He paused in a huff, a particular sound used when he was actually disappointed or annoyed. "You think I'm dramatizing things? You think this situation doesn't warrant my concern-"

"No, because it won't be long until all this is fixed and we can apologize to the lad in person. Matthew is fine, so stop sighing every few seconds as if you've missed out on a new fashion statement. Show some strength for once."

France narrowed his blue eyes angrily. "Don't start this England. I'm not arguing with you now- you are just as worried as I, and if you deny it, you are even more of a cold-hearted ruffian than I thought. You and I know Matthew is not _fine_."

Arthur turned his bitter gaze to the side. "Yes, fine, I'm worried, but I don't need you reminding me of it every second, damn it. Try to hide your obvious upcoming breakdown, will you?"

"Non, I can't do that," Francis replied, looking less annoyed and more desperate. Unlike many of the Nations, France didn't make a habit of hiding his emotions- he wore his heart on his sleeve; if he was happy, he showed it, and if he was sad- well, one look from anyone was all it took to see that.

England was different; a stoic man who hid behind the visage of a noble strength- even as a young troublemaker, as untamable as the seas he once ruled over, he kept any feelings not viewed as strong locked tight in his chest. They were still present though, and France, who knew the man all his life, could see them clearly.

They truly were opposites. Perhaps that is why they had such trouble getting along. Ones weakness was another's strength; their culture, their beliefs, the way their people carried themselves- despite being so close, physically and mentally, they were worlds apart.

Arthur, ever the voice of reason and logic- surly his words held truth to them; France did need to pull himself together, moping like this would get nothing done. Yet, Francis, certainly more familiar with his feelings, _needed_ Arthur to see…

This was a long time coming.

Sure, with Matthew gone, it was an alarming circumstance, but in reality things between them had not been exceptionally well in the first place. Something was bound to break if their direction continued. France couldn't help but realize this.

He could remember how Matthew was always afraid of being alone; probably a result of his large expanse of territory versus the population inhabiting it- but Francis was quickly coming to understand how much he had abandoned the boy. Not just in the past, he had long struggled with those memories, only to choose to no longer dwell on them- Matthew seemed to have forgiven (or at least chosen to forget) his actions back then.

Mathieu forgave him in all his past wrong-doings, and France was relieved to know the boy held no grudge against him- however, even with this, a wall appeared between them.

A wall appeared between all of them: France, Arthur, Alfred, and Matthew. Every one of them had some kind of boundary- France had flitted back and forth, stirring trouble as he was prone to do. Arthur attempted to assert his authority even in things he had no business in- at least he wasn't as bad as Alfred, who barged into everything trying to 'fix' it.

Matthew… France frowned- _what had he done_?

He found it extremely difficult to think of any wrongdoing Matthew had been a part of- at least, nothing to the extent they had done. Canada never caused trouble for anybody; he was supportive, the most reliable and stable. In fact, the boy caused more problems of his own as a result of helping _them_. He sent many of his people to fight in _their_ wars, knowing many would die, he never complained even… when they used him.

Perhaps not to an extent that it was _obvious…_

_Non,_ he chastised himself- anyone who looked close enough could clearly see how they treated the Northern Nation. Looking at a history textbook or any kind of foreign affairs, it _was_ obvious - America, England, and France were notorious for _using_ the great Canadian- resources, people, anything they could take.

It was a fact of a Nation's life- that they took advantage of any other Country was not surprising, the fastest way to grow and expand, it was a constant "dog eat dog" kind of a world in a search for power and influence. However, France could allow himself to feel remorse in the way their actions went so far- how long had it been since Mathieu and he _talked_ like they used to all those years before?

How often did they visit Matthew? – France had forgotten where the boy even lived, what his house looked like. The only thing he knew about Canada's current affairs came in the morning international news. A simple "Canada's Olympics are coming up, everyone get ready for the heated competition, it seems everyone is training hard for the right to Gold. The American President Ob-"

Francis could laugh at it all- the only thing he knew about Matthew right now was that the_ Olympics_ were being held in his Vancouver… He had to remember where Vancouver_ was_. Pathetic right?

He needed some kind of release to all his built up despair; before all these thoughts and revelations caused him to explode in a "mental breakdown" as England had so quaintly said.

Usually his stress was alleviated by a good banter with the Englishman in front of him, it always helped being around Arthur, even if they didn't 'get along' by other's standards. They had a connection lasting centuries, whether as enemies or allies, they had one another to turn to, even if they pretended such a fact only burdened them.

Right now, in any other situation, Francis would have welcomed the beginning of an argument. Arthur seemed willing to start something of the sort; his sharp words were stinging enough to warrant the kind of anger France would normally feel. In fact, that was probably the goal- Arthur was not heartless, and even if the man claimed to hate Francis, he cared enough to be the source of this disguised comfort.

However, now… France didn't think it was the correct solution. As uncommon as it was, he didn't want to lessen his depression with a customary fight- nothing about this was _normal_ and he needed Arthur to understand this. Something had to start changing, and it might as well begin with this.

"Yes you can, fro-"

Arthur's words cut off in a startled squeak as a pair of arms slid around his shoulders and his mouth was suddenly full of blond hair. He puffed, blowing the wavy locks out of his mouth, frowning at the sudden affection; without any perverse intention too, it was strange, and it deepened his worry. "You're not going to break down _now_ are you?"

"We've been horrible parents, Angleterre."

"We have not- I mean, Matthew grew up just fine." The man huffed, mumbling a "Can't say much about the other one…" before rolling his eyes and getting back on the topic. "Stop this nonsense, we've done all we can for him- he's a strong Nation, this is hardly going to break him."

Francis whined, an aura of depressing emotions swirling around him as he buried his face in the Englishman's neck. "But we ignore him and forget about him- if Alfred didn't ask about him… mon fils would not even cross my mind! How could I have not _known_ he had been kidnapped? If we talked more, or… Angleterre, do _you _talk to him?"

Arthur frowned, stiff arms that had stubbornly remained at his side came up to touch the Frenchman's shoulders, not quite an embrace like France was giving, but something of an acknowledgment. In any other situation he would have flung the flamboyant man off him- but he knew there was nothing but solace in his touch now. The support was needed, even if England would deny it, and no matter how much he despised Francis at times, he didn't want the Frenchman so desolate either.

"Not as much as I should, but Matthew knows we care for him, and you can't blame yourself for not knowing of this- nobody knew the lad was kidnapped unt-."

"Russie did! How could Ivan know when we did not?" he asked desperately, voice trailing in a wail. "Why would our Mathieu be with Russie anyway, Arthur? Was it because w-we pushed him away?"

"No," Arthur chided. "Now stop this sort of thinking this instant. Ask these questions when you see Matthew yourself." He patted the man's shoulders. "Man up, frog. We should only focus on one thing now- getting him back. Everything else you can save for later, it won't do us a bit of good thinking on it here."

The arms around his shoulders tightened before releasing the Englishman completely. "Oui… I know."

Arthur looked into bright blue pools of emotion and allowed a tentative smile cross his thin lips.

…oOo…

"Russia!"

Ivan blinked a few times, scrambling to stand up straight despite the aching pain in his side and the headache that became a steady throb. He turned to see America storming up the stairs with an angry expression on his face. "They're drugging him," he stated.

"What kind of drug?"

"We don't know the type, but it's set up in an IV, we found the empty bag and a needle. It makes sense- Mattie's too strong to be held down by anyone, if he's constantly pumped full of this shit, he wouldn't have the chance to get out."

"Da, Prussia said that too." Ivan turned his perturbed stare to the tiled floor, frustration still running through him- he didn't care about any of this, he just wanted to find Canada. His right hand came up to his chest, rubbing at his breastbone- it ached, as if the heart inside were about to jump from its cavity. He couldn't explain his torrent of emotions; just knew that their intensity clouded his thoughts and affected his physical state as well.

"You ok?"

Russia glanced back to America, catching the slightly concerned gaze. With everything going on, Alfred could understand how Russia could be affected- this was happening in his country, he was being blackmailed by his own civilian, and maybe America could believe his brother and Russia were friendly with each other. It was obvious Ivan was concerned for Matthew, and America was relieved that Canada was getting all the help they could give- it would be hard to attempt a rescue if Russia was uncooperative.

However, America was starting to become suspicious of just _why_ Ivan was so worried. Even if Russia and Canada had good relations (America bemoaned about how his brother's "friends" seemed to be communists; first Cuba, now Russia!), Russia was taking this a little too personally.

Of course, America really didn't have the right to say that; he was on the verge of a full freak-out himself. They all were… That was worrying in a way, and not just because panicking Nation Spirits could destroy the world as they knew it. Alfred didn't know so many people cared about his brother so much- since when did these bonds occur? Where was he- the big brother, the hero?

He supposed he couldn't be angry- if Mattie had friends, especially the ones who would go to such lengths for him, then he should be happy, right?

Alfred instead felt like he was missing a big piece of some kind of puzzle, and he hated puzzles. Perhaps he was also paranoid in thinking Mattie's 'friends' had ulterior motives for being so caring. With such infamous reputations, it was understandable to be weary of their intentions. However, just how far were they willing to risk themselves for some cheap benefit for themselves? It couldn't be _that_ worth it to pretend sincerity.

In the end, he didn't waste precious time thinking about it; all he knew was that Dmitri Mihailov had three of the world's largest superpowers on his ass, they would catch him, for sure- the question is, could they keep it together long enough to do this cleanly?

Russia had been on the edge of insanity, and as strong as the man was, it would be dangerous to ally themselves with an instable variable. Had Ivan's aim actually hit the American earlier, not only would Alfred's composure shatter, but they would be down two of their most valuable men and Matthew would be even worse for wear at the end.

Prussia's clear head was now shot with the revelation of losing his chance at recuing Matthew himself- and being the reason for Canada's relocation. As angry as everyone could be at his carelessness, none of them would dare fuss about it; the blame was shared equally, and bickering about who caused what would do nothing.

America seemed to be the only level head in the group, and that was new- and something of a double edged sword; in everything he did, he surely loved to lead, but it wasn't always with the best plans, he could admit that. He loved to rush into things, and he hadn't the patience to go over strategy- his strong points were in numbers and skill- his military was strong, plentiful, and well trained; just as he was.

Too bad calling in the army was out of the question, and a group of soldiers, no matter their quality, was useless without uniformity and a strong leader. At the moment, their small group lacked teamwork, and who among them could honestly say they had the knowledge to lead such a dangerous, unstable faction in the first place?

Prussia, America, and Russia were hardly a good team- their history was continually smeared with hatred for each other. They couldn't quite bring themselves to work together.

They were trying though; for Matthew. Damn were they trying…

Footsteps on the stairway behind them caught their attention. Germany nodded in acknowledgment as he entered the kitchen, a subdued Prussia steps behind him, "Nothing more to do here. We may not have information on where Dmitri is going, but we have his head of security- he can certainly tell us all about him; maybe about what he's trying to accomplish."

America ran a hand through his hair distractedly, "Good, I'll go get the things we need from the car. We can use a bedroom upstairs or something right?"

"Ja, I'll set it up."

Alfred turned to Ivan, holding out his rifle seriously. "Watch it, buddy, and no more close calls."

Nodding wearily, Ivan took his weapon, watching the two nations walk away with purpose, wishing he could stand up and get things done as well- or at least look confident like that; his wounds were bothering him, he had trouble seeing and walking straight. He couldn't bring himself to do such a thing at the moment; not with his chest aching and mind plagued with Matthew's picture.

Prussia sniffed, slowly leaning back on the counters beside the Russian, looking down at the tile. "Um," he paused. "You… uh."

Frowning slightly, Ivan glanced at the albino, "What?"

"Are you and Mattie… together?"

Blinking, Russia tilted his head to the side, answering with a slow hesitance, confused on where this was coming from. "Нет."

"It's cool if you are," Gilbert replied, disregarding the negative answer. "I mean, I never thought about it- but I don't see anything _wrong_ with you and him; I mean, I hate you and all, but as long as you don't hurt him, or make him cry-"

"Where is this coming from, Пруссия?"

Gilbert trailed off, frowning, remaining still and quiet for a second, until he decided to simply show the Russian. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, holding it out carelessly. "He seems to think you are."

Russia took it, his hands still shaking from before, but not with as much intensity, unfolding it with care, revealing neat handwriting in casual English.

_Dear Ivan,_

_Too formal? Yes, I think so too, however, I doubt you care for such inconsequential things like "formalities," the brute you are. No matter, I am fine with my generosity being lost to you._

_On to the reasons of this letter; obviously, you are reading this because you've been so very rude and obtrusive as to trespass on my property and break into my safe like an undignified thief. I suppose I deserve such treatment- I have, after all, stolen something precious to you._

_Your dear Angel._

_I should correct myself; he is my Angel now, yes? And what a dear he has been, I assure you. So very alive, something you don't see in this dull world any more. Truly a great find; I have to wonder where you came across such a beauty._

_I digress; surly you wish to know my next requirement of you. Seeing as you are well enough to break into my home I am confident you have healed enough to fight again. Do not worry; it will not be another tournament. Rather, you will only have to fight one person; a woman by the name of Vera Lebedeva. I do believe you know her._

_I want you to kill her. You can do that, can't you?_

_Angel wishes to say hello, he was so very emotional upon seeing you yesterday; I am envious of your bond. I hope, should something unfortunate happen to you, that I can replace you in his heart. It is not good to grieve the passing of a monster._

_Especially a monster without his master, no one knows this better than you, yes?_

_-Mihailov_

Russia growled, fisting the piece of paper in his hand, crushing it into a ball before throwing it across the room, watching it bounce harmlessly off the wall and roll on the tile climatically. "I can't do that- where did he- how? Bastard!"

Prussia's expression didn't change. "So, he's guessing wrong?"

"No- I don't know! Matvey and I hadn't known each other for long but…" He swallowed, knowing for sure that he couldn't mask how much he cared. "He means a lot to me. Mihailov must have seen this; otherwise he wouldn't be so confident in blackmailing me like that. How long had he been tailing us?"

Gilbert let out a big sigh, and Ivan couldn't decipher if it was from disappointment, frustration, acceptance, or even indifference. "Well… I wouldn't put it past Birdie to fall for the biggest baddest fish out there. Crazy kid." He straightened. "I'm just glad you're not a complete idiot- doing this for him… not many people would. So… yeah, whatever makes him happy and all that shit."

Ivan looked up at the albino with an annoyed expression. "Is this really the time to have a heart-to-heart chat about approving a relationship between him and me? Because I told you, we're not together."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Whatever, I know Birdie, and I know _you_, no matter how badly I wish I didn't. Mattie called _you_ when he had the chance; he trusts you now more than any other- and you wouldn't go this far to rescue anybody. Man up and say you love the kid already."

Russia let out a surprised choking sound. "I don't-"

"It's easy to see, Russia." Ruby eyes rose to meet dark mauve, his voice carrying a whimsical tone to it, "For someone knowing what to look for." He shrugged. "It's about time Mattie had someone there for him anyway- so whether you admit it or not, you better take that to your cold heart, bastard. If you let him down, I'll kill you."

Ivan continued to stare at the Prussian with a shocked look unusually seen on his face, his mind still trying to sort through everything Gilbert had said. He had no idea what to make of everything, but the words hit a chord within him, and he felt as if those feelings in his chest were suddenly named.

_Love_, was it?

The despair of having Matthew taken from him, the fear of the boy's state, the frustration and worry- feelings so thick and turbulent he could think of nothing else. It was far from what love was supposed to feel like; he thought love was supposed to be warm, comforting- but then, the description of _love _also came with pain. "Love hurts" was a popular saying, and yet, he'd never understood the oxymoron, didn't know when to identify his feelings, for they were all foreign to him.

He loved his sisters, and sure, when they declared independence, it hurt to see them go, but it was nothing like _this_. His sisters were never in such positions, but he still thought, had they been in Matthew's place, he'd act differently. He'd still panic and attempt everything in his power to protect them, but… Matthew was special. Something about him stirred an unrecognizable demon inside Ivan; a piece of himself he never knew he had.

That was called love?

His mind claimed it couldn't possibly be, but his heart took the explanation and held onto it so tightly he could never shake the thought, only set it aside for later.

"Maybe we should… see how the others are doing, da?" he sputtered, looking away from those red eyes.

Gilbert snorted, "Yeah, okay, avoid the topic, but I got you by the balls on this one, Russia, don't think I'm letting it go."

Ivan let out an exhausted chuckle, "Da."

They began to walk, slowly, as Ivan kept a firm hand around his middle, feeling the stitches pull with each step, and he would pause every now and then when his vision swam. Prussia stayed only a few steps away, keeping alert and ready to assist the Russian, even if the man's pride snapped at him.

They made it through the living room and up the stairs, finding Germany in the bedroom directly to the right, stripping the bed of sheets. The unconscious security guard lied carelessly on the floor and Germany hoisted him up onto the bed easily, not particularly gently either.

He tied the hands and feet together in a series of knots using rope that he must have brought with him or found somewhere, securing the limbs to the bed tightly. Gilbert hurried to assist, looking at the man's wound as he did so, just to be sure their prisoner wouldn't die of blood loss before they even had the chance to do anything.

It was a clean hole just above the kneecap- probably shattered the bone and most likely very painful. Not that the Prussian cared; he actually got a sick pleasure from that knowledge, knowing the man who was a part in Matthew's kidnapping suffered so. If he lived after this debacle (he doubted that) he wouldn't be able to walk normally again.

America rushed in behind the two arrivals, holding a black box that looked to be a toolkit. "Got everything?"

"Ja."

"Then let's get started," the door was slammed shut with the American's booted foot. He set the box down on the dresser, pulling out a water bottle half full, and unscrewing the cap. Russia leaned back on the wall beside the door, crossing his arms over his chest. "You ready to translate? I doubt he's going to speak much English."

With a nod from the Russian, Alfred took a few strides to stand at the side of the bed, beside Germany, and tipped the bottle, watching the stream of liquid fall messily on the security guard's face, soaking the black hair, dark blue T-shirt, and white mattress beneath him. Brown eyes snapped open and a gasp was heard- he shook his head, sputtering and looking around wildly, determining where he was and with who.

It took a long time for him to realize his predicament, and the Nations waited patiently as he made eye contact with each one of them. His entire form began to shake as he took in the sight, dread pooling in his eyes. "Please. I know nothing."

Ivan felt pity for the man, and he felt something scratch at his insides with the knowledge of what he was about to do; torture a civilian. "You know something. I'm hoping you'll tell us without persuasion."

"I don't know."

Gilbert let out an impatient sigh, "Let's start with this; who is your boss?"

"D-Dmitri Mihailov."

"Good. What does he do?"

The man paused, but it was not from lack of knowledge, but more of the language barrier, he turned to Ivan with bright, frightened eyes, but spoke clearly in Russian.

Ivan translated; "He designs and sells aircrafts."

"How did he get into that? Kind of young to have such responsibility, isn't he?" Gilbert continued, placing both hands on the mattress and leaning in casually, but in a way that was deemed threatening by the prisoner.

Another string of nervous Russian, and Ivan would repeat it in a monotone voice, face blank and eyes dark. "The company runs in his family, he inherited it from his father." They already knew this, it was in Mihailov's personal records; however, they decided to keep the extent of their knowledge to themselves.

"How did he die?"

"Suicide."

Prussia sighed, leaning farther in, "Details! Come on."

"_He hung himself_," the man stated, talking fast and fearfully. "_Young Dmitri was the one to find him at age fourteen. It was in the aircraft hangar_."

"Why did he kill himself?"

"_His wife died of cancer ten years before, he was very stressed in the business and… he was involved in the underworld. He was charged with transporting drugs, and killing his mistresses. There were court cases against him, he would be thrown in jail in the next year had he lived."_

"So he was a coward?"

"_He was insane!_" the man corrected, having no qualms of insulting his former boss, or his current employer for that matter, as he continued with a "_So is Dmitri_."

"Why do you say that?" Prussia asked curiously.

"_He always talked to himself, he hated everything- he seemed to particularly target the politicians too; the ones who were involved with the government-_"

"That makes them insane?"

"_It's unnatural to hate ones country so much, and it is strange when they keep referring to the motherland as something to kill!_"

Ivan paused and stumbled over the English words at that, face changing to one of cold dread. Germany and America, who stood back and simply watched, shared a look. "How did-" Alfred began.

"You think…" Germany stated at the same time.

Prussia looked at all three of them and summed up the situation perfectly, "Fuck."

Ivan stood up, closing the distance between him and the confused man on the bed. "_Tell me more of this; they hate their nation, why? Did they give a reason?_"

"_T-they would talk about weakness, about how the power they had over the world fell, how Russia was better back _then_."_

"_Back as the Soviet Union?"_

"_No, before then even-"_

"_When?"_

"_It was insane babble! I don't know! Please, I'm trying to tell you what I know. Don't kill me, I don't know!"_

The others watched with something akin to fear beginning to bloom in their eyes. "Ivan, if he knows you're a Nation that changes _everything_," America stated.

"I know," Ivan growled. "_Dmitri is the same?_" The man nodded. "_When did this start for him? Did he always hate his country too? Did he always refer to his Nation as a physical being?"_

"_No. Only after he inherited everything, and he took things even farther- hired assassins, and started searching for someone he said would change the world."_

"_Me…"_

"_Yes, it seemed to be you, he found you sixteen years ago during some kind of fighting tournament- he was very careful in setting everything up though; I don't know why but he had endless patience, and nothing anybody said could change his opinion in you."_

"_Why did he act now, then?"_

"_He said he found the key- the boy they kidnapped. For a long time the plan was to take some girl by the name of Katyusha Braginskaya… your sister- but he said it wasn't enough."_

"_Why would he think Matthew was a good choice?"_

"_Y-you're not together? Dmitri thought so…" _He swallowed nervously_. "I suspect he wanted the boy himself anyway, the moment he saw him in the fight, it was all he talked about. He has some bad habits with his… love life."_

That did not make Ivan feel any better and he growled in frustration. _"You have no idea where he has gone? No idea what he wants from me?" _

"_He knew you were coming, we were not told… he knew this would happen_." His voice grew harsh and bitter, realizing now that the boss he had served since he was a child threw him away so carelessly. Considered as nothing but cannon fodder- trash to be expelled- it certainly helped him to decide; he wished he could give more information to the men. If he were to die, at least he could give them the advantage on getting revenge. _"All I know is… he's supposed to order you to _fix_ things- like, order you to fix the country's problems somehow."_

Impossible- even as a Nation's Spirit, he didn't have such control over his country or how it was run- he couldn't control his people; it was the other way around. He listened to his boss, true, but even his boss couldn't order him to do the impossible.

What exactly did Dmitri believe he could do? Take his Nation hostage- was he attempting a dictatorship? He'd need an army to hold off the protestors if so- his people wouldn't allow some unknown rich brat take over their country.

That was absurd, and something Ivan wouldn't be able to do even with extortion hanging over his head.

Prussia, still standing next to him, shifted, nudging the Russian's side subtly, "What do you want to do now?"

Alfred cursed. "If he knows about _you_ then he knows about Mattie- things are different Ivan, now's the time to call for help. We have to find him, _now_."

"But how did he _know_?" Germany asked. "None of his family were part of Ivan's government, and with this new claimed hatred for it, there couldn't be any chance for a leak seeing as they kept such distance."

"That doesn't matter!" Alfred snarled, stepping closer to Ivan, getting all of his attention, bright blue eyes glared with rage. "Ivan, what do you think he can do to Matthew now? Knowing who and what he is…"

"Da, Alfred, I know."

"Then get your fucking military, this isn't personal anymore. He's after _Russia_, not Ivan Braginski."

"He's right- this changes everything," Prussia stated. "At least put your defenses up-"

"Fine!" Ivan snapped, "Just stop trying to tell me what to do, I'm thinking."

Alfred opened his mouth; seemingly about to push the subject, but Germany laid a hand on his shoulder. "He's got this, leave it at that. The mere thought of our own people hating us to such an extent is a hard thing to believe."

There were people out there, surely, who hated the land they came from, despise the place and culture they were raised in. In this… it was sad- as the representatives of their lands would do anything for their people, the ones who gave them life. Naturally, they couldn't please everyone, and they did make mistakes- still… a part of them who would wish the utter demise of their Country?

Ivan straightened, a blank expression on his pale features. "Thank you," he told the prisoner, pleased with the fact that no torturing measures had to be taken for the information they had received. Either the man was a coward, or simply had no sense of loyalty to his employer for whatever reason. It was a relief.

He turned away, opening the bedroom door, avoiding the other's eyes as he stepped out. He felt numb, as if his mind temporarily shut down as it processed all of what he had learned. He didn't know how to feel regarding Mihailov or the situation. The frustration and panic still lay underneath the surface- but he also felt shamed, guilty.

Dmitri could hate Ivan Braginski all he wanted, but to hate his Nation- it hurt, knowing he let his people down. He had made many mistakes, and he tried to get past them, but they were still open wounds it seemed. How had he come to hate him so much? What had Russia done to the Mihailov family?

He couldn't remember, and he didn't know of any way to find out; such a thing would have been in the records. Dmitri's father had a less than perfect profile, but nothing about his government was mentioned, and for that hatred to be passed down to Dmitri only after his death…

It made no sense. He didn't understand, and now, along with the fear of Matthew getting hurt, he worried for the actual state of his Nation as well. Mihailov had a plan… it had seemed so two-dimensional before, a petty grudge, or a want for power; a simple criminal they could deal with quietly. Now, the game expanded- he couldn't just think about themselves as people, but as Countries.

Which explained how horrible Matthew was being treated now; his hand retrieved his phone, staring at the black screen. Dmitri was not shy about inflicting those injuries; he had originally thought the man was just cruel, but now he understood- Mihailov knew Matthew would survive it.

He mechanically went through the motions of navigating his phone's files, pulling up the recently received picture, his chest aching. A part of him didn't want to see the monstrosity, and yet another couldn't help but take one more look, as if the image would suddenly change and everything would be beautiful again.

There was blood, as red as the silk Matthew was wearing; it smeared over the chest, up the neck, and on the turned cheek. Blond hair looked dull after the dirt, sweat, and blood stained the golden strands. The eyes were shut tightly; the remains of salty tear tracks visible, a blush of humiliation on his face, even as he suffered.

He hated red.

He always hated the color, even as he learned to have a sick fascination with it. There would always be the reminder- the white snow stained, his people dying. Blood tainted everything it touched, and Ivan used to love to taint things.

There were things he never wanted red to touch though- and he knew Matthew had become one of them. Everything bright and pure; from the golden hair, to the violet eyes, to the pale skin- red should not have tainted such a beautiful person, and yet, the boy was surrounded in it; covered in it.

And his chest…

Those lines, like a child with a marker, carelessly carving away; a sick design, from the neck line to the abdomen, lines from side to side, slicing across the ribs, curving around the pectorals, and one line went directly across the chest, through both nipples to the other side.

Directly in the center of the diaphragm was the intersection of the vertical and horizontal lacerations in the flesh, creating a cross; a pun at the nickname "Angel" perhaps.

At the bottom right hand corner, beside the navel, the elegant writing of Dmitri Mihailov engraved the skin, like a signature of an artist.

His breathe shook as he sighed, and he closed his eyes, shutting out the painful image (it followed him as if the picture was printed on the back of his eyelids). He tried to compose himself, regain some semblance of the proud Russian he was supposed to be. He felt so very weak- all his strength and confidence had left him, and he struggled to hold on to it; not wanting to act so vulnerable or incapable.

He needed to get his act together- he knew what he had to do; fight back- it was high time he made a move. He had all of the military might behind him; all it took was a single command- a _single command_. If he just made a quick call…

The phone in his hand began to ring and he jumped at the sudden noise, looking at it with a mixture of apprehension and anger; he decided he hated technology- it made things too easy. Lately, it seemed everything wicked had come to him in the form of a cheesy ringtone of false happiness- a hundred years ago, this sort of communication wouldn't have been possible.

However, at least he could check the caller ID, assuring the person on the other line was someone of no importance- the number was unrecognized. For the sake of doubt, he accepted the call, answering it with hesitance.

"_I-is this I-Ivan?"_ It was a woman's voice, thick with fear, the words choked out between sobs. Russia's frown deepened.

"Da…"

"_It's me… Vera, r-remember?_"

_Oh no_… He cursed, not needing to hear what was wrong with the woman on the other line, coming to his own conclusion. _"Where are you?" _He turned around, motioning to the others in the room behind him. They didn't question it, packing up what little they brought and untying the man on the bed. No words were said as they followed the Russian down the stairs, leaving their prisoner behind, thanking them for sparing his life. It was only for his cooperation and Ivan did not care to kill such an unimportant coward.

Alfred took a lead with his rifle, walking out the door first, just in case someone decided to stay outside and take point for their departure.

On the phone, Vera stuttered out an address, and Ivan moved faster, nearly jogging across the snow covered lawn, hiding every wince with a determined glare. "_I'll be there as soon as possible._ _I'm not far- ten minutes at the most_."

The girl whimpered, _"C-can you stay and talk to me? P-please?"_

"_Da."_ He held his hand out to Germany, asking for the keys, and the man handed them over without protest. They jumped the fence, rushed through the woods of pine to the van on the other side, climbing in and starting the vehicle. _"Talk to me, what happened to you?_"

…Thank You…

Translations:

Pardonnez-moi (French): Pardon me (What? No way, couldn't guess that at all!)

Пруссия (Russian): Prussia

Disclaimer: I doubt the characters of Hetalia want me to own them; they'd all hate me after I put them through so much torture…. All for the name of Love~!

All the Nations in unison: "BULLSHIT!"

Prussia: "Sadistic whore!"

(Falcon punches him into oblivion)


	29. Deux: Two

Chapter 29: Deux: Two

"Damn it… I hate you."

A chuckle, "I don't think you're the only one."

Alec scowled, pushing away his plate of golden glazed chicken breast- it was a wonderful piece of culinary art. Grilled to perfection, tender enough to simply tear apart with your fork. The white meat seemed to melt in your mouth and the sauce drizzled over it complimented the taste very well.

He wasn't hungry though, and he settled for leaning his head on his hand, watching his employer across from him eat his own chicken with a dignified air around him.

Fork and knife worked together to cut away small pieces of meat, and with grace that came with practice, the morsel was lifted passed thin lips. Dmitri would chew, mouth closed, head held high; he would not speak or make any kind of noise until he rightfully swallowed, and a white napkin dabbed at his lips to catch any crumbs.

Then he would reach for the rich wine next to his plate, lifting the sparkling glass to take the smallest of sips, nodding afterwards as if approving its quality. Then the entire process was repeated.

Alec hated how nobles ate. Always so proper and graceful- the plate in front of him, as good as the food was, probably cost a small fortune, and wasn't exactly fulfilling. It was stupid, in his opinion, to spend so much on something like this, when you could get much more for half the price.

Nobles didn't care about that though; they threw around their money, wasting it on jewelry, fashion, hair-care-

They never knew about the other side of the world; the part that lacked such privileges. Alec remembered how it felt after three days of having nothing in his stomach; months of scrounging, taking what he could, barely getting by. Nowhere to go, no strength to fight those who shared the streets he lived on- a twig of a boy surrounded by despair.

He never knew the importance of table manners- for who was he going to impress? Back then, you shoved whatever you had in your mouth before someone took it, uncaring if it was dirty, rotten, infected. You only hoped to put an end to the twisting of your stomach, the fire of hunger- all you wished to do was survive.

Dmitri never knew that; consuming his food with such patience, looking for all the world like perfection, even while doing something mundane and _human_ such as eating.

Nevermind the speckles of red covering his sleeves; he happily fed on the chicken in front of him, oblivious to the fresh blood staining his white shirt. "You seem distracted, Alec."

The Russian glanced up to meet golden eyes, grunting in a lazy fashion, "Just bored."

Dmitri tilted his head slightly. "Bored? How so-we have such a dangerous man after us, surely you are excited to see the outcome of this little plan of mine, yes?"

Alec sighed, "Yeah, but I was hoping to do this back in Moscow; there's _people_ there, unlike out here, in the middle of _nowhere_."

Mihailov laughed again. "Is Alec lonely?" Said man just scoffed, not denying. "Perhaps you can find one of those prostitutes you love so much, pound into her like the dog you are. It'll get rid of that sour attitude you have."

Ignoring the insult, Alec closed his eyes, "Whatever. I doubt I'll find someone attractive in this barren wasteland. Not like the chick I met the other night- who called me earlier by the way- I could be on a date right now. You at least have your little boy-toy in the back."

"Perhaps, if I feel generous, you can have what's left of him when I am done."

"I don't want your scraps," Alec snapped.

Dmitri smirked, taking another drink of the red wine. "You do not know what I have just offered you, do you?"

Opening his eyes to send a small glare to the man across from him, Alec huffed, "As sexy as that kid is for a boy, he's too… virgin. I _like_ them dirty, thank you. It means they know what the hell they're doing."

Setting the glass down, Mihailov stood from the table, brushing the front of his shirt down and frowning slightly at the red stains, as if just realizing they were there. Not that he particularly cared; he had more shirts he could change into. He hummed, "If you change your mind…"

"All I want is what you promised me," Alec growled. "You can keep whatever else."

"Of course, I would not dream of breaking my word. You have done so much for me; your reward is fully earned. Now, I fear I have made a mess of my… _boy-toy_, as you called him. Clean him up for me, will you?"

"Sure I will. Not much else to do here," The man replied dryly. He didn't look too excited about it, but he would not refuse a direct order.

Mihailov nodded, striding across the quant eating area connected to the kitchen and around the wall, out of sight. Probably went to his room, to clean up and change himself; it was getting dark outside and seeing as his boss left Moscow to go into hiding, there was no work to be done; it was likely the man would retire to bed soon.

Alec was getting tired himself; the flight was long, and after the small drama that happened with Matthew on the plane, it was difficult to get things under control. Then when they arrived, it was a rush to get everything unpacked and set up. The weather outside turned ferocious; in fact, Alec could barely see anything out the window next to the table. A terrible blizzard had begun, lasting throughout the day, and most likely throughout the night.

Sighing again, the Russian stood, leaving the dishes on the table for whoever else came by; they brought a maid, didn't they? Or was she left behind? He didn't remember-Dmitri's order to transport everything of value to a secret hideaway was sudden and many, seemingly random, people were excluded from the trip.

Even though Alec Zaytsev knew what was coming for those chosen few, he still wished to have been forgotten in Moscow. Caring for Dmitri was such a nuisance; he was like a stubborn, spoiled child- despite his cruel nature; Alec likened himself to a babysitter at times.

With heavy steps, he left the open dining room, passed the staircase, and into a hallway. Matthew was placed into a spare bedroom at the very end, the last door to the right. It was much better than the basement room he had been held in before, with a comfortable bed, complete with sheets and a padded comforter, although the boy was only placed on top of the bed, not within the covers.

At such temperatures, Alec could bet the blond was cold. The covers underneath could be put to use, but Dmitri liked to see the revealed skin. In any case, the comforter was most likely stained from the Canadian's blood anyway.

Shutting the door behind him, Alec's deep brown eyes connected with a strange violet. The Russian could agree with his boss; those eyes were a beautiful shade, and sure, the golden hair, the fair skin, lean body-Matthew was quite a catch. He simply wasn't a fan of Angels though; his life before this, the one that began on the streets, beat his belief in God or any of his descendants out of him. He lived in sin to survive- the dark deeds of 'evil' were the things that kept him breathing.

He learned to like the darkness- he found himself attracted to the lonely, the suffering, and the disturbed- the tainted. Matthew was too bright for him; not at all his type, and he didn't like going near something Mihailov had 'staked claim' to, much less fraternize with. He promised to keep far away from any of Dmitri's interests; for many reasons. To stay in the man's favor, for the sake of his job, for the mere fact of disliking his employer in the first place…

He met those eyes with a blank face, ignoring the glare sent his way; he marched past the tall dresser to the bedside, sweeping his eyes over the boy's form. Dmitri truly did make a mess; the lacerations upon pale skin seemed deep, the flesh split wide, blood still flowing sluggishly in some places.

There was something else catching his attention though; something white, like small drops of snow un-melting on the exposed skin. A hand came forward, fingertips touched a patch of unmarked flesh, and the small white speckles were hard and lukewarm, not cold or soft like he had expected.

Curious, he pulled his hand away to look at the substance, bringing it to his lips and flicking his tongue out to taste. "Salt?" he asked, surprised. He glanced back down to the marred chest of the Canadian, seeing rocky pieces of mineral covering the wounds. "Ouch, he really had some fun with you, didn't he? That must burn like hell."

The boy only glared, unflinching. Alec had to respect him for putting on such a front. Uncaringly, he turned to the door on the other side of the room, revealing a bathroom with a fairly big tub in the back. Sighing in annoyance, for he really didn't want to carry out such a task of _bathing_ someone, he twisted the taps on the side, watching the flow of water rush to begin filling the ceramic basin.

Traveling back to the bedroom, he pulled open a drawer in the dresser, wondering if Dmitri wanted the boy to change into something else; that red robe was ruined by now. Surely there was something just as revealing in here…

"Damn it, they didn't put any clothes in here? I thought we packed those," he mumbled to himself, stumbling away from the dresser and leaving the room with a huff. It took him a few minutes to find something suitable in one of the unloaded suitcases they took with them; a simple button down shirt that would be a bit too big on the boy; perfect, for that would be the only thing he would wear.

He returned to the upset Canadian, throwing the shirt to the side and working instead on taking the IV out of his arm. There was nothing gentle about it, but the boy did not show any pain either, only continuing to watch Alec with displeased, cautious eyes, which further narrowed when the last thing covering him was pulled off.

Lifting the boy from the bed with ease, he carried him to the bathroom without trouble. "You're very light; you hadn't eaten since you got here, have you?" He didn't know if he actually pitied the boy or not; it was none of his business and he decided he didn't care. Setting the blond in the water, he _tsk_ed as the clearness of the liquid instantly turned a murky pink with the blood. He pulled the cork in the drain, letting the tap continue to flow, replenishing the tub with clean water as the dirty recycled down the pipes. "Maybe it would have been better to take a shower, but I'm not in the mood to get wet with you, kid," he said amusedly.

Rolling up his sleeves, he started with lathering up a washrag with soap, beginning with the kid's face, making a disgusted expression as he saw the burn mark on the cheek. "You think that's infected?" The burnt flesh looked dark in color, a dirty brown and red. The tissue was dead, and Alec was no doctor by any means, but he did know that such a serious injury usually meant immediate treatment.

He wondered if the dead tissue had to be cut away, or if the kid would need a skin graft transplant; a process that took healthy skin from some other place, to help the burn mark heal and reduce the scarring. It must be hurting, and it was a shame the kid's face had to be ruined like that…

Violet eyes only stared at the tiled wall across from him, as if unworried about that event happening. He twitched slightly as the wound was cleaned, but a few minutes later, even though the muscles of his body couldn't move enough to contract in the first place, he seemed to relax. Alec's intent to wash him seemed just that; no ulterior motive to violate him present, and perhaps Matthew could see how annoyed the man was with carrying out the task anyway.

Even if he could, he wouldn't complain- getting _clean_ would be greatly appreciated.

Alec made sure to focus on the wounds, knowing Dmitri wouldn't like the boy to die of any kind of infection. They didn't need to be stitched and they seemed to already have scabbed over in some places. He washed the blond hair, laughing at the angry look Matthew gave him when he had to dunk the boy's head underwater to rinse the shampoo away. Whether the "Angel" was his type or not, it was amusing to see him look so defiant- like a weak little kitten promising revenge when he grew up.

When they were done, he turned off the running water and yanked the Canadian up, wrapping a fluffy white towel around him. Carrying him back to the bedroom, he dropped him on the covers, gathered the discarded shirt, and began dressing the boy like one would dress an inanimate doll.

Then the Russian grabbed the IV once more, huffing as another wave of exhaustion hit him; after this, he was definitely going to bed. Hopefully he'd be able to sleep in late tomorrow- things would go by much quicker if he could sleep the day away like that; nothing else to do anyway.

"Why?"

His entire body froze- his fingers in the process of tearing off a strip of tape, so that the IV wouldn't move once in the boy's arm. That voice, a quiet whisper, hoarse and weak, had most certainly come from the Canadian. Shocked brown eyes connected with violet, seeing the clarity within. "What?"

Matthew's lips opened slightly, the movement miniscule, but the mere feat was supposed to be impossible considering the drug that was supposed to be in his system. It was inconceivable that Matthew could have shaken the effects off in fifteen minutes! Usually it would take an hour to regain bodily function control.

Then again, they hadn't been on the plane for more than an hour before Matthew had the strength to rebel.

"Why?" the boy whispered.

Despite his surprise, Alec jumped into motion, gathering the IV and finding a vein to pierce in the boy's arm. He strapped it in place and made sure the drug was flowing once more, relaxing slightly as he observed it dripping into the Canadian's system.

He looked up to see the mauve eyes dull slightly, as if disappointed, or slipping into a depression. Alec suddenly felt remorseful. "I don't know, kid."

Matthew's eyes focused on his own. The Russian shrugged, sighing in helplessness. "I don't know why Dmitri is after you or Ivan. I've only known him for a few months. It's something to do with his inheritance… his father wanted this, you know?"

_What a lame answer_, Alec thought, but he really didn't know, and he didn't particularly care- Matthew was in the wrong place at the wrong time- bad luck… Call it whatever, but there was nothing to be done now. "Sorry, kid."

Another movement from those lips, a slight tilt in the corner; a dry smirk, a 'thank-you-but-you-really-didn't-help' kind of smile, and Alec returned it, truly apologetic. With another sigh, he turned from the bed, picking up the damp towel and dirty red robe, placing them in a hamper in the corner of the room. "Good-night," he murmured, striding out the bedroom door, shutting it behind him.

Even as he got ready for bed himself, his mind kept repeating his own words. He would shake his head, rub his eyes, and try to forget; he couldn't afford any attachments. He was Dmitri's 'right-hand' and if he was to fulfill his part of their deal, he needed to stay as far away from it as possible. He didn't need to know the _why_; Dmitri's business was his own and Alec did not need to know these things to do his job.

If he knew… he may not agree, and he couldn't do this if his conscious hounded at him.

…oOo…

"_I was just coming home from school- I t-take college classes at night… Someone was in my apartment and they_-" short, quick breaths, as Vera's voice on the receiver choked; her panic was causing her to hyperventilate.

Ivan tried to console her, speaking in low Russian even as he sped down the highway twenty miles over the speed limit, America asking about what was happening rather obnoxiously in the passenger seat. "Calm down. Tell me, whoever was there- is he still with you? Did you see his face?"

"_No, he just… tied me to a chair and took my phone, s-said that Ivan Braginski can help me and dialed your number. He left, I think."_

"Okay, did he say anything else?"

"_N-no, that was it. What is this about, Ivan? I don't understand."_

"Just a bad acquaintance. Don't worry, you're safe." Until Ivan was forced to 'kill' her- which he didn't think he could do at the moment. "He's just trying to scare you."

A soft sniffle, calming breaths, then… "_Is Matvey okay?"_

Ivan's hand clenched around the steering wheel, his foot pressing on the accelerator just a little more. He turned down another street, heedless of the red light above and causing another jeep to swerve out of his way, a horn blaring in outrage. "He's fine," he growled.

"_T-that's not very comforting; the way you said it."_

Ivan cursed, switching lanes and passing a car going way too slow, jumping narrowly in between a small Lincoln and an eighteen-wheel storage truck. America, (who had been talking in the background this entire time, though Ivan ignored him very well) yelled particularly loud, "What are we doing? I'd like to know before you send us tumbling in a burning ball of twisted metal!"

Lips thinning, Ivan gritted his teeth, turning down one more street with the sound of screeching tires, zooming down the paved passage in record time, even if it was narrower than the others. "I'm almost there, Vera."

He hung up the phone, pocketing it, and snapping out a "Shut the fuck up, Alfred!" for the sake of answering the American just so he'd stop yelling in his ear.

A second later and he hit the brake, maneuvering the vehicle into a graceful glide across the cemented path, stopping right outside a townhouse kind of building. Jumping out of the car, his rifle in hand, Ivan ran up to the navy painted door with gold numbering 765 on the front. The door had been locked, but one shove with his good shoulder and it burst open easily.

"Vera!" he called, and a muffled cry was heard in reply. The apartment was easily navigated through and may have been considered fairly large and open had it not been for the four men; their large bodies taking up all the space.

Continuing on through the living room and into the bedroom, he paused, looking around cautiously. Vera was in the middle of the room, sitting in a straight-backed dining chair, hands tied behind her with rope as well as her feet. She looked at him with running mascara staining her face, light brown hair, straight and as long as her chin looked mussed.

Her clothes were rumpled, the dark denim skirt and white sleeveless tank top slightly out of place. She looked frightened, and yet she smiled through her tears when she saw Ivan. "_Y-you hung up on me…_"

Despite the anger coursing through his veins, he apologized, knowing how terrified she was. He stepped forward, intent on setting her free, when something else caught his eye. Directly in front of the bound teenager was a camera, standing on its tripod as if it belonged there, waiting to be used – _or already in use_.

Was Dmitri watching? To make sure he killed the girl…

Why did he want Vera dead? She was just a teenager; a bit of a partier, outspoken and brave, but Ivan did not have any attachment to her- they'd only met once. She dragged Ivan and Matthew to a club; they had fun, and that was it…

"_Do you know a man named Dmitri Mihailov_?" Ivan asked; his voice harsh.

"_No._"

Was this a test? Simply to see how well Ivan would carry out his given orders? She was too young, too innocent to have anything to do with the government or the underground. Perhaps she was targeted for lack of any other civilian Ivan associated with- start small; a teenage girl. Then move on to the important; the Council members, his Prime Minister, the President.

He couldn't do that- he wasn't sure he could do this. He may have recklessly killed his own people before, but back then… at least he had a reason, no matter how twisted it may have been- it had been _right_. He couldn't pretend this was right; his orders weren't coming directly from his boss (Medvedev wouldn't have called upon him to take out a girl like this; if it had needed to be done, surely the man could use others under his command).

She was his child… frightened- counting on him to help her; could he kill her?

With a heavy heart, Ivan stepped forward once more, most likely coming into view on the camera. His dull violet eyes connected to Vera's bright brown, and he frowned. His grip on his rifle tightened; he couldn't bring it up, couldn't take aim or pull the trigger, not while staring directly in the woman's trusting gaze.

"Ivan," Gilbert began, the only one who had read the letter and knew exactly what he was supposed to do. "… Don't."

"I have to…"

"Matthew wouldn't want you to."

"You'd rather him get hurt for this?"

Prussia swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath. "As much as it hurts to say… Matthew will survive. She wouldn't…"

Ivan's chest ached, like it had so many times before, his mind conjuring up that image of Canada, knowing that, even if Matthew survived, he would suffer every second of it.

Perhaps Ivan was underestimating Matthew's strength- Canada had been involved in a war, the boy understood the risks of getting captured and tortured. He had the will to get through whatever the enemy gave him.

It made no difference really; they all were trained for the exact same thing, and it didn't mean they suffered any less. If anything, their will to live and remain loyal encouraged their captors to make it even harder to do so.

The fact that it was Matthew- the boy Ivan had come to care for more than anyone else- certainly made that point irrelevant as well. Russia didn't care if Matthew could _handle_ it- he didn't want the Canadian to get hurt any more than he already had.

He agreed with Gilbert however, and he knew Matthew would only come to hate his methods of 'saving' him. Canada already made it clear in his call- he didn't want anyone getting hurt for him (Ivan swore to continue this rescue anyway, but… Canada would not appreciate this, and it would certainly hurt Ivan so do such a thing).

He kneeled before the girl, shouldering his rifle, ignoring her shocked question of just _why_ he held a weapon like that in the first place. Retrieving a six-inch long knife from his boot, the sharpened edge cut through the thick rope holding her feet to the chair legs easily, like slicing through butter. He did the same to the restraints binding her wrists tightly. "_I'm sorry this happened, Vera."_

Prussia shrugged passed the others still crowded in the doorway, stepping behind the camera and following the long cord connected to the device. "It's live," he said, seeing the cord ending in a typical phone jack, plugged into the outlet.

Ivan turned to look directly in the camera's lens. "Turn it off."

Gilbert took hold of the black wire, jerking it from the wall roughly, "Get ready for another picture…"

Russia didn't think he could take another one of those, but he kept that comment to himself, standing with a blank face; his emotions well hidden.

America growled. "Can you tell us what's going on now? Why is Matthew going to be hurt this time?"

"I was ordered to kill her," Ivan replied. "Seeing as I didn't, Matthew will suffer the repercussions."

"Why couldn't you just do it? Who the hell is she- no one of importance, right?"

Russia glared. "Let's see you kill an innocent daughter for nothing," he snapped.

Alfred huffed, realizing it was slightly cruel of him to suggest Russia was weak for this- especially because he knew had he been in Ivan's place, he'd disobey that order as well.

But _damn it_, his brother was going to be harmed for this!

"What now?"

The four nations remained silent, and Vera, watching the proceedings even if she didn't understand the words, didn't interrupt, sensing the distress between them. She fixed her clothing, trying to look presentable and less like a wreck of a girl who had a near death experience (she didn't know the half of it).

Gilbert detached the camera from its tripod. "We have no more leads," he murmured, voice holding a frustrated edge to it. "All we can do is research. Delve deeper into Dmitri's files; find some kind of reasoning for his hatred of Russia."

America cursed, backing out of the room and stomping across the living room out of sight.

Germany frowned, folding his arms over his chest. "Let's just get back…" He turned as well, though with much less anger than the American before him, and out of the room.

Gilbert held the camera out, making a gesture between Vera and the device. "Is this yours?" She shook her head in the negative and the albino scowled, pushing buttons and watching everything that had been recorded from the beginning. There had only been fifteen minutes of video, the camera had been turned on by nothing but a black coated figure, the face unseen. Probably a simple lackey Dmitri had ordered around, but definitely someone who could potentially know where Mihailov had gone.

"Fuckin' Russians; I'm tired of this shit- absolutely nothing," the Prussian muttered darkly, glaring at the camera as he stomped out of the room to find his brother.

Ivan broke his blank expression to send an annoyed look the man's way, the insult was very broad, but he wouldn't bite back. Instead, he looked back to Vera, who stepped forward, a hand taking hold of Ivan's black coat at the elbow, looking up at him with worry. "_Thank you for coming. I'm sorry for… this, whatever it is."_

"_You did nothing wrong, but if you don't mind, you should come back to my house for a day or two, until this is all done with. I don't know if you'll be safe here."_

She nodded, sniffling and wiping away the tear tracks and smudged make-up with a pitiful _tsk_.

…oOo…

Viktor Kozlov laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You've frozen every single bank account, tarnished his company with the rumor of bankruptcy (which is certainly now true), the media will be all over _that_. You somehow got a repossession company to schedule an immediate take-all…"

Arthur smirked, leaning back in the plush armchair, crossing his legs and taking a sip of the bourbon he had found in the kitchen. "We definitely have the influence, don't we? There are things we can't touch- Russia would have to deal with the police in order to get out an arrest warrant, but everything else was quite elementary."

France smiled from the loveseat beside the Englishman, happy to at least have some kind of advantage; the knowledge that he'd done _something_ for Matthew soothed him somewhat. A shuffling from beside Francis caught his attention and he looked to Italy, who had taken to wringing his bright blue shirt worriedly. "What is wrong, Feli?"

"Doitsu should be back by now, shouldn't he?"

England waved in dismissal, "They're fine, Italy. In any case, there was no time limit for them to return, perhaps they found something. I imagine they have rescued the lad by now, at the least."

Ukraine came around the sofa, a glass of iced lemonade in her hands which she handed to the retired KGB agent with a small smile. He thanked her. "I just hate waiting…" her words were whispered forlornly, and everyone's solemn expressions told that they agreed.

"S-should I… put up the food? It's cold by now," Feliciano murmured, light brown eyes glassing over in tears that didn't fall. He had made such a big diner for everyone, with the help of Katyusha they had set up the table, and placed the perfectly baked ham in the middle, hoping to clear up the tension and stress with the slight happiness of good quality food. It was the only thing they could do and the two needed something to keep them busy.

"Yes, please," Arthur said, sighing. "I suppose it is time to get ready for bed."

Feliciano stood and Katyusha followed him to the kitchen to clean the dishes and put away the leftover food for when the others returned. Their moves were mechanical, their voices subdued, and their once talkative personalities seemed dull and oppressed. Ukraine was depressed and scared for Matthew, and Italy couldn't help but worry too, even if he didn't know Canada very well.

Italy and Ukraine both knew there wasn't much for them to contribute; there were enough Nations involved in the first place, and it wasn't like they had as much influence or power as the superpowers currently working to resolve this. So, with heavy hearts lifted only with hope, they tried to do the best they could to alleviate everyone's stress. However, it just seemed to grow more unbearable with every hour that passed; the wait was agonizing.

An hour later, fifteen minutes passed eleven, and the muffled sound of vehicle doors were heard through the thick walls. Italy jumped with the sound, spinning on his heel, leaving the sparkling kitchen in a sprint, sliding on the wooden floors into the foyer just as the front door swung open, revealing an exhausted looking Germany.

Feliciano leaped, arms wrapping over the broad shoulders, head burying itself into the German's neck, a long incomprehensive slur of words from the Italian, the meaning lost, but the emotion present. Ludwig sighed, though it was unclear if it was from exasperation or relief- and after steadying himself, gave the boy a firm hug, keeping him close even as he stepped forward, allowing the others passage into the house.

"Did you get him?" England asked, sliding into the foyer as if he had run to greet them as well, France not a second behind him. "Where is he?"

America growled, dropping the black duffle bag of AK47s they had gathered together, bending down to unlace his boots. "No, we didn't get him. We're no closer to finding him either."

France squeaked, "B-but you said-"

"Obviously, we were wrong," the blond snapped; his sour mood was clear for all to see. Alfred threw his wet footwear beside the discarded bag, stomping through the foyer and past England and France, running up the stairs two at a time. A few moments later, and the loud slamming of a door was heard.

Awkward silence befell the rest of the group as everyone processed the failure. Italy had calmed down from his whined "thank God you're okay" and "I was worried, Doitsu." Now, he seemed just as confused and lost as all the others, looking between everyone's distraught faces and feeling their sorrow. One person was new though, and he asked, with a meek tenderness, who the young woman by the door was.

"Her name is Vera. She doesn't speak English, but she's kind enough," Ivan stated, his voice blank and without emotion. "She's been through quite a lot tonight… she should rest. Kozlov," the cop hanging at the edge of the living room startled. "Take care of her, please. She may be in danger, it's why I brought her here, understand?"

"Da…" Vera was gestured to follow him, and she stepped forward nervously, looking weak and tired, despite the smile she gave to her new 'care-taker.'

Italy withdrew from Ludwig's grip. "Ve, I'll go get her something to drink. She looks a mess."

Germany let him go, glad to see the boy was safe, and still with such a generous heart.

"There really was nothing?" Arthur asked, his voice nothing but a whisper, hoping they'd correct their earlier statement.

The three men- Ivan, Ludwig, and Gilbert, shook their heads, and it seemed as if the two father figures across from them began to deflate; their shoulders sagging and eyes darkening. France began to mutter in French once more, and England closed his eyes, turning away and pushing the Frenchman back into the study. A room where France could cry freely and England could let out his anger.

Ivan didn't care, the room was already a mess, and he doubted there was much else to break. With shaking limbs, he started his way to his own room, noticing Ukraine following him, her strong hands wrapped around his bicep, keeping his balance steady as he walked. They made it into the darkened room and the Russian fell onto his freshly made bed, clean of the dirt and blood that had covered it that morning.

From his laid back position he pulled off the replacement scarf, throwing it unceremoniously across the room; he would never disrespect the original in such a way. He felt his sister's hands on his boots, unlacing the strings with sureness. He was surprised at the action, but didn't show it, continuing to stare up at his off-white ceiling, the little cracked designs in the paint he had spent many nights studying.

"Katyusha…" he whispered, for once, not worried about showing just how much this was hurting him. "I can't get to him. I don't know what to do. He's hurt and I… I'm the reason. Why does everything good always break around me? Even when I try…"

His elder sister shushed him gently, pulling the heavy boots off and continuing to undress him for bed- everything but the white shirt and gray boxers, and covering his shaking form with the bed sheets. Like a doting mother she smoothed the hair from his forehead- she hadn't tucked him in like this since before the Soviet Union. "It's not your fault, Vanya. You'll find Matvey, I know you will. Everything will be fine, brother, you'll see."

Violet eyes connected with deep blue and Russia was calmed slightly, "Do you think he'll hate me?"

"No," she replied. "Matthew would never hate you for this, Vanya."

"… Thank you Katyusha, I am glad you no longer hate me. If you can forgive me… maybe he can too, da?"

Katyusha paused, watching Ivan's blank face. "Hate, hate, hate," she murmured. "Don't talk like that, Ivan. I never hated you… I was afraid, yes, and I'm sorry for that. You were always my little brother though, and I love you; that will never change."

Ivan's lips pulled in a frown. "I'm sorry I scared you, sister," he said slowly. Katyusha smiled warmly, and with a surprising swoop, she landed a kiss on his forehead.

"Sleep now. You need to rest."

She pulled back, turning to the door and giving her little brother one more smile before shutting it behind her, leaving a somewhat dazed Russian in the room. Ivan sighed, glancing back up at the ceiling, the warmth of happiness at this reconnection with his sister fleeting. For a moment, it almost felt like the past; Ukraine would tuck him in, kiss him goodnight, even when he claimed to hate that ("it's weak!").

Belarus would crawl into his bed after nightmares and he'd begrudgingly let her stay, because he liked the thought of him protecting her (this was before she thought of him as anything more than an older brother to be admired).

That warmth faded though as his mind continued to run, and he felt his body sag into the mattress, his eyes closing. "_I was afraid_…"

He was such a monster. All he knew how to do was fight, intimidate, bully- he knew no compassion. Until this month, he didn't know that he needed to _say_ he cared for his sisters; he thought they knew- but how could they when he acted so angry all the time, even when he put on a fake smile.

He was starting to realize how he had acted over the decades, and his form quivered in disgust- he thought he had changed. He hadn't.

He was deluding himself.

_It is not good to grieve the passing of a monster._

_Especially a monster without his master, no one knows this better than you, yes?_

But he had done _some_ things right, hadn't he? Matthew… the boy had said so himself.

_"You're better than you think."_

_"You're very strong, both in body and mind." _

Canada… Maybe Ivan could just ask him. If the boy thought he was a monster- if he told the blond why he was so… fucked up.

If he just told him…

…oOo…

The morning was blinding, the sun's glare off the pristine white snow absolute. It covered everything; the dense forests of tall pine and fir trees, from the tips (more than twenty feet high) to the very ends, and continued its cover across the ground. The blizzard had ran throughout the night, and for the most part of the morning, in fact, whipping winds still threw around wisps of snow, like a sandstorm. Certainly, it was more tranquil than an actual blizzard, and beautiful to watch- though from the safe warmth of the cabin, of course.

Dmitri Mihailov sighed, seemingly in disappointment, as he took a sip of the black tea in the stark white ceramic mug. As beautiful and calming as the weather was to observe, be couldn't help but think of the current situation; more specifically, the Russian back in Moscow and his poor choices as of late.

He was hoping things would go much more smoothly than they had been. Of course, he was aware of some slips through his plans. He didn't expect Ivan to have help- two Germans of some descent and a blond American obviously were not accounted for in Dmitri's scheme of things. He wondered why they were there; it couldn't be for _Ivan's_ sake, so it must have been for Matthew- the boy currently in a restless sleep behind him.

Mihailov didn't want to wake him just yet, he looked too peaceful, like the actual angel he related the boy to- there was no anger present in the features. He wished to see those beautiful eyes, but here lately… they only served to anger him with their hatred towards him.

It wasn't worth him looking into those violet irises when they glared so coldly back at him.

Such expressions didn't suit the angelic Canadian.

"Pity," he murmured, sipping his tea. Indeed, it was a pity that nothing seemed to go as planned- Matthew's capture surely broke a part of Ivan's resolve, but the Russian still refused to obey him; such disorderly conduct- breaking into his home, probably killing any servants he found there- and not killing the girl he had specifically targeted.

Where was all the leverage? Perhaps Matthew didn't mean enough to the Russian?

Or did _Russia _simply fall lower than he expected? Maybe another push was necessary- something closer to the cold heart of the monster he pretended not to be. He had another card to play after all.

Retrieving his phone, he sent out a text message, marveling at the quick signal even if he was in the 'middle of nowhere,' and more than three thousand miles away from its destination. He was quite surprised he even had service out here, though it was weak.

He finished his tea, setting it on the windowsill next to a thick leather book, withered with age, yellowed and cracked. Dmitri glanced at it, bringing his hand up to lay upon it with gentleness unbecoming of him, as one would do to a bible; Mihailov closed his eyes, as if in prayer. "He won't be able to stop this," he whispered, "Even if he stops _me_."

A smirk crossed his lips, and he reopened those golden eyes, brighter than usual. He turned his head slightly, glancing to the bed and the figure lying on top. Violet eyes locked with his own, narrowed and wary- suspicious and fearful.

"I'm afraid you will not be able to escape either. After all, those wounds I gave you may disappear one day, but the memory of what I have and will do will stay with you forever." Those beautiful eyes shone, and Dmitri was once again captivated. He pulled away from the window, taking the bound book with him, holding it carefully in his hand as he settled, perched on the edge of the bed, watching the Canadian with a strange softness.

"You have no idea, do you? I read a bit about Canada's history," Matthew's eyes widened. "You have nothing resembling Ivan's past. In fact, the only ones who could relate to Russia would be the Middle East- Saudi Arabia, parts of Africa, North Korea, and Germany."

A hand came up to caress Matthew's cheek. "I wish I could give you a taste of what it's like- you could understand Ivan better, and me. Unfortunately, only your _boss_ could do such a thing." Another smirk and Matthew's face turned ashen. "I wonder what your boss would say if he knew his Nation was in such a compromising position…"

The hand began to lower, sliding down a cheek to the neck, wrapping around it with a lax but threatening grip. "I could kill you. Then again- you wouldn't stay dead for long would you? What if your body was completely destroyed? Burnt to ashes…" He let out an amused laugh. "Would your body reform? Would you regenerate or just _appear_, I wonder. I'd love to find out if we have the time- so many questions."

The hand relaxed against the narrow throat, and continued to run down the length of the blonde's body. The shirt separated their skin from directly touching, but as thin as it was, Mihailov would still feel the rough lines across the boy's chest. Rises and falls, dips and plains- the design he had carved into the flesh redrawn with his finger tips. "I could… do other things as well," He whispered, the violating hand paused on the abdomen before dipping lower, fingers spreading across the milky thigh, dragging the hem of the shirt up slowly. "Would it mean something? Having sex with a _Nation_?"

Oh, those _eyes_, how they shone with such a great deal of _fear_ at those words; for once, holding an actual plea- not a hatred or a pitying emotion. It was the first breakthrough he'd had with the Canadian- no amount of torture had resulted in that look.

With a hungry look, Dmitri leaned over, crashing his lips against the blond. The book in his hand was released, and he brought his free hand up, taking hold of the Canadian's chin, forcibly unhinging the jaw and slipping his tongue inside. The boy tasted sweet- like heaven, and Mihailov moaned at the flavor; the moist heat, the soft skin of the thigh he caressed.

His grip turned harsh, his fingers digging in with bruising force, his body towering over the blond. He broke the kiss, nipping at those sweet lips, so soft and luscious. He caught sight of violet; wet tears gathered in the corners, that pleading emotion still present, begging him to stop- Mihailov ducked down to latch onto that supple neck.

It made him so hot; the heat from the boy underneath him- the knowledge of _breaking_ something and getting such a great reward while doing so. Taking something from Ivan…

How he'd love to take this pretty thing; feel it, break it- and see Ivan's face when he realizes.

With a shuddering, excited breath, Dmitri shifted, pulling himself up, letting his knee slip between the boy's slender legs, up to the juncture of his thighs. His hand pulled the leg up, the limp limb settling on the Russian's hip. He molded against the Canadian, feeling the thin form against his and loving the thrill, the heat.

"Hey Dmitri, you got a… call." Alec's thick voice (from both sleep and boredom) trailed off. "Um… Want me to come back later?"

Mihailov growled against the neck he had been marking, leaving the smooth throat and glaring at the man standing in the doorway. "My cell phone didn't ring."

The Russian held up his own cell. "You gave everyone this number, remember? Anyway, it's a customer- something about canceling his request in –"

"Work matters can wait, Alec," Dmitri snapped, his normally polite attitude, even while annoyed, forgotten for the moment. "If you can't _see_, you incompetent idiot, I'm dealing with something more _personal_."

Alec rolled his eyes, "This is personal. Your company is going to shit, this isn't the first call I've gotten, and I've been handling this since five o'clock."

Cursing under his breath, Dmitri slid off the bed, gathering his leather bound book and phone, not bothering to hide the slight bulge in his black slacks as he pushed his way past Alec, snatching the phone along the way.

"Dick," Alec whispered once he left. He looked about to leave, even after sending a blank look to the boy on the bed. Canada's eyes were still wide and wet, but the look given to Alec – one of _gratitude_, made him pause.

The Russian frowned slightly, stepping into the room and reaching over the bed. With one tug, the white shirt covering Matthew was pulled down, once again covering the boy for decency. Then he spun on his heel, leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

…oOo…

Ivan awoke with a headache that was more annoying than painful, sitting up with a numb kind of feeling. He got out of bed, picked his clothing out for the day, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair- all with a mechanical feeling to it. He didn't want to walk out of the bedroom- he didn't want to face the world yet.

Still, he needed to get going- there were things he had to do. The first among them: call his boss.

America had one thing right: this wasn't personal anymore. Dmitri knew they were Nations, which meant the man shouldn't be surprised if the military were involved...

His thought process stalled and he suddenly looked about him as if he had lost something. Perhaps he had- _where was Kumajirou_? The bear was in pain the last time he'd seen him; the phantom aches in the chest now clear after the new picture he received yesterday.

He could get an understanding of Matthew's situation had Kumajirou been around. Was Matthew being punished for his disobedience?

With quick steps, much more stable and balanced than yesterday's, he stepped out of his room, striding down the hall. He peeked into the living room, catching sight of Alfred on the loveseat, indentified by the brown bomber jacket over his hunched form. Viktor Kozlov lay on the couch, arm dangling limply off the end. The coffee table between them had been moved, allowing space for two padded pallets upon which the forms of both France and England rested.

Ivan supposed he should have been a gracious host and helped decide the sleeping arrangements, however, it seemed that his 'guests' were capable of settling it themselves.

Moving past the sleeping figures, Ivan began his way upstairs, stepping lightly so as to make no noise. The first bedroom- the one Matthew had used- was occupied by Germany and Italy, and the last one at the end of the hall, belonged to Ukraine. In the middle was a regular wooden door leading to Belarus's bedroom…

He pushed it open; peeking inside with hesitance- the last time he'd been inside was when Natalia had threatened Kumajirou. The drama of that night seemed so clear, from the look on Canada's face, to the accusations from Natalia afterwards. Her words, thinking back on them, could have been a foreshadowed warning.

_"They made you into a monster, and anyone who thinks you can change is delusional," She whispered._

Blinking away the memories, Ivan stepped into the room, pausing at the shattered glass on the carpeted floor. It was still there? Nobody picked it up?

His eyes flickered to the bed, covered in a forest green quilt to ward off the cold. It was empty…

_What_?

Her suitcase was gone- she left, obviously but… she was supposed to watch Kumajirou!

A flash of anger coursed through him- he trusted her with this! –and then worry, because she promised, and no matter how angry she was at him, she'd never do something _wrongful_ to him. At least not at such a dire time.

Surely, in history she had snapped back at him, she'd never been anything but a stubborn Nation, even while under his rule- but for something so petty…

He glared at the empty room, taking out his phone, (fully charged, Katyusha must have set it up after helping him to bed) and dialing a number he hadn't willingly called in over a decade.

It seemed to take forever for Natalia to pick up, and when she did, her voice had a strange static sound to it. "Brother?"

"Where the hell are you?" he asked harshly. "Do you have Kumajirou?"

"Yes… He's here."

Ivan waited, expecting more. When it seemed she wasn't going to continue, he impatiently asked his first question once again.

"I… just landed in Magadan."

Violet eyes narrowed. "Why are you there?"

"It is where Canada is being held, Vanya."

…Thank You…

Yeah, this came out better than the last! :)

Thank you everyone for reading! I hope you enjoy it, and the next chapter will begin the wrap up. Time to save Mattie! Or at least try! Ha ha, don't kill me…

I had many people ask who Vera was…. She's the civilian girl who helped Matthew find Ivan in his fight, and then took them clubbing with her friend (who is fine and untouched, for those of you who asked about that. It was just Vera being targeted). She's not connected to Dmitri; it was just Mihailov trying to get Ivan to kill someone he knew without that person being too important. Baby steps first, eh?

This semester is over, until summer classes start I will have time in the mornings to write, which is my favorite time to do so. Hopefully that means I can write more! Yay!

Happy (belated) Cinco De Mayo!

**Cinco De Mayo:**

Back in the 1800s, Texas (Yay! Texas!) was part of Mexico. Texans wanted to be part of America! And Alfred was like, "Hell Yes! Texas is now mine!"

Mexico didn't like this very much, and so, this started the Mexican-American War of 1846. This war was very taxing on Mexico, who is already quite poor (the distribution of Wealth is horrible, if they got their act together, they could be quite good economic-wise). So, Mexico stopped paying their debts to Foreign Nations (France, England, and Spain). These three Europeans were like "Where is our money?" and Mexico tried to explain.

Arthur and Antonio understood and allowed Mexico leniency. Francis, however, wanted his money now (greedy Frenchman, Napoleon was kind of a cruel boss, eh?). France invaded. 8,000 French Soldiers attacked the small city of Puebla, where only 4,000 poorly equipped Mexican soldiers defended.

On May 5th, against all odds, the Mexican army won. Yay!

… A year later, France came back and successfully took over Mexico City, but by that time, Alfred's Civil War was over, and the US kind of came to the rescue. Which is weird right? Seeing as America and Mexico were still angry at each other- but this happens often between us- we fight, but only we can pick on each other, nobody else. :P

_Translations:_

None…

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own it (sniff), and Gilbert called me a sadistic whore.

Gilbert: You _punched_ me!


	30. Один: One

Chapter 30: Один: One

"Что?" A long period of stunned silence. "_What did you say_?"

"A-are you angry at me Van-" Belarus began, startled by his tone.

"How do you know this?" Ivan snapped, his voice rising in pitch.

"I followed you and spoke to Alec Zaytsev that night you were… fighting. I was able to get his phone number and he told me where he was-"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were angry at me!"

Ivan cursed, lashing out at the nearest thing; the wall. He punched a hole clear through it actually, which he hadn't meant to do, and now he would have more damage to repair in this house. However, for the moment, it made him feel just a little bit better. "Angry or not, you should have told me Belarus! Fuck, all this time was wasted." It was unusual for him to throw such a verbal fit- and Natalia had a moment of quiet apology over the phone which Ivan snarled at.

"I was going to bring Canada home for you…" she whispered. "You would have forgiven me then, yes?"

"I would have accepted your help, Belarus; you didn't have to keep such important information behind my back. Tell me, where exactly is he? Is the place well-guarded?"

"Actually Vanya… There was a blizzard. My plane had to stop in Magadan, but Alec said he was in Susuman. I haven't seen the place they are at yet. The storm is dying down though; I should be able to move in a few hours."

"Don't confront them yet," Ivan said, finally leaving the messy room with its new window into the hallway. He strode quickly to the first door near the stairs, opening it without any forewarning to the sleeping Nations within and immediately shook the larger form of the two within the bed.

Germany's reaction was instantaneous, his aqua blue eyes snapped open and his hand brandished a pistol from underneath his pillow. The barrel stared down at a blank Ivan who was neither surprised nor offended.

Ludwig lowered the weapon once he realized who had awakened him, and at Ivan's gesture, he removed himself from the bed and grabbed his clothing. Gilbert looked to be sprawled across the small sofa on the other side of the room and Germany threw the older brother his pants, waking the albino up with a low yelp.

Italy remained asleep through the whole exchange.

Russia backed out of the room and continued on downstairs. "I'm calling the military into action. I'll be up there as soon as I can, so don't move, sister. I mean it."

"Military?" she asked, surprised. "Brother…"

"Mihailov knows about what we are."

"… Are you sure?"

"Da." With that, he hung up, knowing she would retain her distance as per his request. With another quick scroll through his contacts he began another call. Just as he shook America roughly awake, the receiver was picked up, and Alfred, along with Arthur and Francis, who were disturbed by the racket, stared on in sleepy confusion. "Colonel General Zelin, this is Ivan Braginski, I have an activation code of D0D-96-Catamite."

There was a pause. Alfred sat up a little straighter, and the two European Nations on the floor shook the sleep away very quickly. They could barely hear a deep voice on the other end of the cell phone in Ivan's hand.

"Da," Russia replied. "I need a transport aircraft; something fast- and thirty men. They need to be ready within half an hour; I'm heading over as we speak." Another pause, "Da, fully armed. Thank you."

He ended the call in a much more polite manner; after all, this was the Commander-in-Chief of his Air Force. Colonel General Alexander Zelin was not one to be messed with, and Ivan had known him for a long time, his position unquestionable. He hadn't hesitated to agree with Ivan's requests, and Russia was confident that everything would be in order for their departure as soon as they arrived.

"Russia, what's going on?" Alfred asked. His blue eyes were a lot lighter than yesterday's; the sleep must have helped calm his nerves. It was too much to take in all in one day. With the time he'd had alone to think on their situation, his head cleared, and he was able to focus without that bottled up anger boiling just under the surface.

"My sister has found where Canada is really being held. We're moving out now, get your things together."

England stood- the clothes from yesterday, minus the jacket and shoes, were crumpled from his sleep. He hadn't foreseen spending the night elsewhere than his hotel room, but he did not complain. "I would like to go this time…"

"Me too," Francis stated, scrambling out of the cocoon of blankets to stand by the Englishman. "Please?"

"Da, I do not care."

After that it seemed everyone rushed to get ready and Ivan took the keys to Germany's rented van, planning on starting the vehicle up and getting the heat to cycle. He also shouldered the bag of rifles Alfred had left in the foyer yesterday upon returning. He'd pack it in the back (he silently appreciated the fact that Ludwig rented such a big vehicle- so many passengers would not fit in his Bentley or Porsche).

He checked the weather before opening his front door. Ivan could tell it was about to storm. It hadn't begun to snow just yet, but the wind had picked up, bringing a biting cold with it. Russia's entire left side seemed to be suffering from an imaginary chill- the ghostly fingers of General Winter touching his lands, dropping the temperatures into the negatives.

He could feel the blizzard Belarus had described; its power had waned slightly, but continued on Southwest, over the slopping mountains of his Forests, the largest and most untouched forest in the world- a true wilderness. That pocket of cold seemed to have trouble keeping such strength as it moved to slightly warmer parts of his lands.

Still, it was much colder further East than in his more populated areas here. Siberia was not a place to take lightly- he'd need to be sure they had supplies. Water, Blankets, extra clothing- something the others did not bring with them, and they did not have the time to retrieve each of their belongings. They were not used to the cold, he knew, and they would not know how to react to certain situations his climate could bring them.

He had the things necessary however. Ivan was always prepared for the winter, for he truly knew how disastrous it could be should he be caught by surprise. General Winter was known to pay him rather harsh, irregular visits. There were a few bins in his attic he could bring down, all full of extra heavy, and durable winter gear.

He'd start with the weapons.

Turning the handle and pulling the heavy oak wood open, he quickly stepped outside, despite the force of the wind bringing snowflakes inside his home. Hurriedly shutting it behind him to keep the chill from getting inside, he pulled the replacement scarf around him tighter, tucking the ends underneath the folds so they didn't fly around so wildly.

His roof extended over the front door, covering the small porch and giving a natural resistance to the buildup of snow on his steps. However, the wind simply blew the blanket of snow right up to where it could pack against the door, making it more difficult to open.

He sighed, not having the time nor the concern enough to find a shovel and correct the problem. His booted feet sunk in the few inches, and he kicked the melting ice off his steps as he strolled down them. A heavy _plonk_ distracted his intense punishment for the winter's signature gift, and he paused, catching a hint of brown in the pack of snow he had ruthlessly kicked out of his way.

Bending down, he brushed his black leather-covered hands across it, finding a box within its shroud of white. He picked it up, looking it over as he continued to the car. It seemed to have been mailed to him, the light brown wrapping paper slightly wet and frozen as it sat for who-knew-how-long on his doorstep.

Strange, the delivery service would rather hand it over personally than leave it in such weather- it could have been damaged.

It was meant for him though, as the top right-hand corner displayed his name in clear black ink, but that was it as far as identification went- no return address or stamp.

Opening the trunk on the SUV, he shoved the large bag of weaponry to the very back of the storage space provided, wanting more room for the supplies he'd need to carry down from his attic. He shut the lid of the trunk, stomping through the thick snow to the driver's side of the vehicle, climbing in and sighing at the silence and the reprieve of the chilling wind as he sat in the enclosed space. He started the van, turning on the heat, and looking to the box in his lap.

He wondered if he really had the time to go through his mail- getting supplies seemed much more productive, and he wanted to get things going- the sooner he got to Matthew the better. However, the presence of this box seemed suspicious- it could be from his boss, or his military- they liked keeping packages through mail as simple and un-traceable as possible.

Then again, if it was so important of a package, he definitely would have known it was coming.

Deciding to finish this quickly, he ripped the paper off, revealing a cardboard box underneath, the lapels sealed shut with clear, thick tape. He used his knife to split it open, shoving the stupid foam packing peanuts out of the way, and snatching the solid object his fingers found in its confines, pulling it out with a scowl.

Black and brown leather, thick and heavy, the edges torn from wear, cold metal that clinked with its rough treatment. A loop. A rope. A noose.

It took him a split second to realize what this _gift_ was, and suddenly, the wide space of the vehicle he sat in seemed to close in on him. He felt trapped, weak- _he couldn't breathe_.

"Помогите мне!" A scream. Loud and panicked, although Ivan knew it hadn't come from him, it sounded so close and _familiar_. In a voice so similar to his own, he was convinced it was.

Ivan dropped the object as if it burned him straight through his gloves. It didn't land back in the box though, but in his lap, and it seemed to burn him there too. He scrambled to get away from it, going so far as to open the door and drop out to the blanket of snow on the ground. He cursed, surprised at the shock of cold down his back, but leapt to his feet, watching the dark object in its place on the ground, framed by white.

It contrasted so well with the pure of ice- a dark dirty stain on the earth. The old leather branded in sin. Corrupt with blood, sweat, and tears- pain and sorrow, the suffering of millions and the destruction of one.

Ivan could feel nothing but his heartbeat fluttering in fear, his blood ran cold, drained from his face, and his body shivered with adrenalin and despair. He kept his distance, staring at the object with abhorrence, wondering on what to do, where it came from, how it came to be. He wanted to destroy this thing, so it could cease to exist- for he knew it would forever haunt him if it were allowed to live, and yet, he couldn't move.

It took him a full minute, perhaps more, for him to even be able to breathe, and they were short, disbelieving breaths. His trembling intensified as his booted foot inched forward, he attempted to keep as much distance between him and the object as possible, using one hand to grip the car door, supporting his weight as he reached for the box still in the driver's seat.

The colorful foam packing peanuts were strewn everywhere in his haste to free himself but he hardly gave a damn about those- he pulled the cardboard box out, turning it over and dumping whatever else had been inside over the snow.

A simple white envelope fell out, and Ivan snatched it up, trying to tear it open with his thick gloves and shaking fingers. It took him more times than he'd like to admit and he kept throwing glances at the leather object on the ground, as if he expected it to jump at him.

_To remind you of what you once used to be…_

_-DM_

Ivan took in a deep breath, hating the way it hitched. He tightened his hold on the letter, feeling it crunch beneath his hand, and then, as if he were not satisfied with that, took it in both hands pulling it until it tore easily. From top to bottom, left to right, again and again, until the pieces were too small and then he threw the confetti away from him. The wind caught them before they had any chance of continuing their trajectory, immediately separating the tiny slips of paper, sending them spiraling away across the land, never to be found again.

All that was left…

Weary eyes glanced at black and brown. A foot and a half in length- thick and strong, the leather was something he could easily snap in half, however, there was a time where it was impossible for him to become free of its clutches.

He could still remember, after all this time, how it felt against his skin. The chaffing every time he moved, how it would squeeze against his jugular, the edge running roughly over the same place again and again. It would wrap around his neck so tightly, until it was a chore even to breath, much less move with the strength and agility expected of him.

He would bleed; the leather would sink even further into his skin, and whenever he had the chance to take it off, he would have to _peel_ it from the embedded flesh. However, there were only moments of reprieve before it was once again around his neck for all to see- a collar for the monster of the Kiev.

"_Rus…"_

"Stop it!" Ivan yelled, closing his eyes tightly, a hand unconsciously pulling at his pale hair, as if the pain of his scalp would chase the voice away. For the next minute or so he merely stood in the middle of a churning storm, the whipping winds and the bout of snow hardly felt. When at last he had regained some semblance of composure, he reopened his violet eyes, looking at the sinful object once more. It couldn't be the original. He remembered- that fire… it was burned.

He took a hesitant step towards it, bending down to touch the leather, holding it up while keeping as much distance as possible. He could not feel the surface of it through his gloves, but it looked rough as it snagged against the fabric. The metal clasp of a buckle hung at the end.

Indeed, it looked like a leather belt, worn for wear- but it was much too short; even for a child it would not wrap around. It was a collar for a dog- with a metal hoop to connect a leash even. Such a simple thing should not have garnered such a reaction from him, but he knew its purpose here was not in case he adopted a pet. It was for him.

Dmitri sent him a _collar_. Anybody else would assume it was simply a play on how the human wished to _control_ him, like a master and loyal servant- a harmless metaphor.

Ivan couldn't afford to share that naivety. Dmitri had to have _known_ its significance.

Russia just couldn't understand _how_.

He didn't want to keep it anywhere near him- it made all the ghostly beings of his nightmares all too tangible. His body's senses were heightened, a paranoia washing over him- he felt eyes roaming over him from every corner of his estate, flickering touches against his arms, around his middle, and worst of all, his neck. Despite the sharp wind and the thick scarf, he swore there was a hand wrapping around his scarred skin.

No- having this despicable _thing_ near him was too much, but what could he do? Leaving it behind for later wouldn't stop the haunting. He'd have to destroy it. A loud noise came from around the van, and Ivan jumped rather high in surprise- _not fear, _he assured himself. For a split second those human instincts Nation Spirits were not excluded from having- fight or flight- warred with each other.

He was always too prideful to think of ever giving in to the second option. He had run away very few times in his life, but ghosts from his past- he couldn't hope to win against them. Centuries he had tried, and long since recognized the loss. You can't strike a specter…

"Shit, its cold out here."

Ivan could hardly distinguish the voice or the meaning of the words it had carried, his body was still rigidly straight, staring at the back of the van where the person was heard from. Footsteps crunched the snow underneath as they rounded the trunk, a black gloved hand pulling the lid up in order to dump some kind of bag inside.

The clothes were dark, black or dark blue, maybe green- it was hard to tell with the snow swirling between them. Definitely a males build, with a strict posture and aggressive movements- the way he shoved the bag inside without care, cursing all the while as he slammed the door back into place. The man was about to turn, obviously ready to get back inside the house where it was warmer- pale hair, looking even brighter against the rest of white all around them. His steps faltered though, as if the man forgot something.

He turned so quick, truly a testament to the soldier abilities he still possessed after all this time, his hand seemed to simply swipe across his hip and he was suddenly armed with a pistol, the barrel of what looked a standard Glock pointed directly at Ivan.

Again, for a split second, his mind thought of something else he hadn't contemplated in quite a while- he hoped Prussia would pull the trigger.

Red eyes narrowed, the weapon held with both hands was steady, trained on the dark figure across from him with a deadly accuracy. Something stayed his finger from pulling the little trigger though- so easily could he shoot the man dead. Despite the weather, Gilbert was confident he could land a head-shot, especially at such close range. He'd blow the fucker's brains all over the snow- fully convinced he would deserve it for having the _audacity_ to show up here.

However- Gilbert was determined to _think_ before recklessly killing any sort of lead they may have, and if a lackey of Dmitri's decided to step right up to their door for interrogation, who was Prussia to not give him the chance?

Something familiar struck him about the figure though, before he could make any commands to what he assumed was a spying enemy… he saw the scarf. Wearily taking a step forward, he started identifying the rest of the man, and his breath caught in choked anger and relief. It was Ivan!

"W-what- I could have shot you!" The man gave no reply. His weapon lowered and Gilbert began looking around, wondering why Ivan was here in the first place, and standing stock still like an idiot in the middle of a blizzard (to him). "What are you doing?"

Ivan tried to speak, really- he parted his lips, took in a small breath… but what was he going to say? "_I'm out here having a panic attack, please get these thoughts out of my head- I think that gun should do the trick, can I do it myself?_"

The Prussian took a few steps forward, their distance still remained a good three feet apart, but Ivan could feel a squirm of restlessness at the proximity. He forcefully kept himself rooted to the spot, but hoped the man would get no closer- much less _touch_ him. At the peak of his agitated state, he didn't know if he would rip the offending hand to shreds or run away like a pathetic child.

"Hey, answer me," the albino spoke, his voice getting a bit sharp with annoyance at Russia's silence. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Ruby eyes looked suspicious- or concerned, but Russia doubted the latter were true.

"I …" the Russian trailed off in a strange noise of a hum and grunt. Those eyes trailed from his pale face- almost a sickly color Prussia observed- down the chest and to the object still held limply in hand. His eyes narrowed even further in confusion and he reached forward.

The words "What is-" barely left his mouth before Ivan jerked away from him. "Don't touch it!"

Ruby snapped back up to his face, and this time, they were more aware of the situation- Russia was having a _moment_. As that was what they called his momentary lapses of sanity; like the one at the mansion, where he almost shot Alfred, the boiling rage he'd shown in the study when he was blamed for Canada's kidnapping, and many other tiny explosions of madness the man exerted.

"Damn it, you can't fuck this up, Russia! I'll kill you if your deranged mentality gets Mattie in even bigger trouble! We'll leave you behind, asshole, I mean it."

Russia swallowed thickly, his mind carefully trying to comprehend Prussia's words. _Matthew_. "No, I'll be fine," he said. He tried to get himself under control, he needed to convince Gilbert he could handle this- he had to be there, he had to help Canada. This _gift_ was just going to have to wait; he couldn't let it distract him. "I'll go. I'll be fine. I won't fuck it up."

Prussia kept glaring up at him, either uncertain or worried. Ivan hesitantly held out the collar, "Take it."

Gilbert did, glancing back and forth to gauge of what importance this thing held to the Russian. "Where did you get this?"

"Mihailov left it on my doorstep."

The eyes lost a bit of harshness toward him at that. "Look, forget about this- just focus on what matters, Russia."

_I'm trying._ "Da."

"Matthew is what matters- and he's counting on you. Do not fail him." Even if those words were practically spit out by the Prussian in a sort of frustrated anger at Ivan, they served their purpose. There was nothing that meant more to Ivan than avoiding failure- Prussia knew that, and the fact that failure equaled something worse for Canada ensured Russia got the message loud and clear.

Ivan blinked, and it was as if he had locked away every bit of insecurity he'd recently been drowning in. His eyes turned with a concentrated, superior, aggressive air, onto the scowling Gilbert. "Da, so let's get going, standing around like this isn't helping."

_As if it was his idea!_ Gilbert rolled his eyes, "Yes, get your ass into gear."

Ivan moved quickly back to the house, turning around to face the grumpy Prussian who was following him at the door. "Hide that…"

It was the only thing Ivan said, and he would say nothing else about it until everything was resolved with Matthew- but he would rather not have that thing where others could see. Prussia looked affronted for a second, glaring at the leather in his hand and stuffing it into his pocket so Ivan could see. "There. Now let me in, I'm freezing my five meters off, damn it."

Russia raised an eyebrow, "You think this is cold, then perhaps _you_ should stay behind."

"Like hell."

"Hell is supposedly warm though, Da? So it's not like-"

"I see you're back to normal," Gilbert snarled, shoving passed the Russian to get to the door. "Fick dich."

…oOo…

"Let's go," a cold voice commanded. Kumajirou looked up from his forlorn stare outside the window of a hotel room Belarus had checked them into. She had been pacing back and forth for over an hour, showing an uncharacteristic lack of patience. Something about Ivan angry at her, she obviously hadn't wanted to tell him anything about what she had planned to do. It would have helped her cause if she swooped in to save the day.

At the same time however, she was angry at herself for being so quick to act- the knowledge of Dmitri _knowing_ of their meaningful existence was a shock to her. Alec Zaytsev didn't give any kind of impression that he knew, he was just like any human male- dark with lustful thoughts and consumed with the need to have power. It was fairly easy to control him, and he didn't look to have any loyalty for his employer.

She hadn't talked with him much that night, but he had let loose after a few shots of alcohol, and he secretly enjoyed the fights and the command he held over Ivan, despite only being the medium between the puppet and its real master. His talk to her was innocent, (in regards to business- his intentions of bedding her were less than pure) he let nothing slip, and yet, answered honestly about his career when she had asked.

"_Where are you from?"_

"_A little town east of St. Petersburg- slums really, I don't recommend you visit there." A laugh. "You?"_

"_I am from Belarus," a watchful look that would miss nothing- but the man only smiles, not a hint of recognition or suspicion._

"_Belarusian- nice, I've never been there." His eyes grazed her form lecherously, and she smirked at him coyly, wondering if he would go so far as to touch her. He had already brushed his hand through her hair, complimenting it, and his arm wrapped around her shoulders once as he escorted her to the bar, ordering her a martini. Dirty- of course._

"_What do you do, Alec Zaytsev?" she asked innocently._

"_Eh, a little of this and that- I guess you could call me a bodyguard. Anything they need, I do; sometimes it's pretty annoying, like, my current boss is an asshole, you wouldn't believe- but it pays damn good money."_

_Well, he brought it up, it wouldn't hurt to dig deeper. "Indeed, tell me more of this man who pays you so well."_

_Another laugh, and that arm was around her back again, the hand settling just above her hip. "He's a spoiled rich kid, continuing his father's old business of aircraft manufacturing. He designs small helicopters and charter planes. Thing is- his company has a lot of bad debts. His father really didn't know how to borrow money, so when the kid took over, a lot of the loan sharks and organizations came after him."_

"_Oh, wow."_

"_Yeah, so that's why he hired me. I negotiated-"_

"_Really?"_

"_Okay, it wasn't much _negotiation_," he laughed. "And his name was cleared for the time being."_

_Belarus leaned against him, bringing a hand up to settle on his broad chest with a sort of teasing gentleness- he was well built, handsome even, but a sick crawl rose in her stomach as she touched him. "You do all this- put yourself in such danger- for the money? Is it that much?"_

_His confidence faltered slightly, and she picked up on it easily- instantly she wondered if she was digging too deep, was this too much for a stranger he had only just met?_

"_Well, the money isn't really going to me…"_

"_O-oh?"_

"_My sister…"_

"Ivan will be here shortly, when he arrives, we should be ready. We will continue to wait for him at the target." Belarus was mostly speaking to herself- there was nobody but Kumajirou in the room with her. Her bodyguard Yury was elsewhere, ordered away by Natalia herself- for some reason or another, Kumajirou hadn't been paying much attention.

Her talk with Russia earlier caught his notice, and his sensitive hearing was able to pick up the man's conversation on the other line- he understood that the man was coming soon, which was good. Kumajirou would rather have the Russian here than the angry woman in front of him.

He wanted to tell the man something that had been bothering him for the last two hours. A heightened emotion of fear Canada had- no other injuries (the chest pain had become nothing but an ache of soreness) and yet, Canada had a moment of obscure panic that nearly sent Kumajirou off his chair in hyperventilation. Then… it was over.

Kumajirou let out a soft whine Belarus either didn't hear, or didn't bother commenting on. He hated this.

"It may be risky, but if we keep our distance, we shouldn't be noticed. I have the equipment necessary. We can stay up to a mile away and still get a shot in." She marched to the single bed within the room where a slim suitcase sat innocently on the covers. Picking it up, easily, while fixing the buttons on her dark navy blue coat, she spun around. "Let's go, bear."

He would have grumbled at her bossy tone, but he was glad to _do _something. It's why he went with her in the first place- everyone else was simply sitting around arguing, she at least seemed active. So, hoping that he would get closer to Canada, he obediently jumped down from the plump armchair near the window and followed her out of the room.

They stepped out into the bitter wind, snow falling around them with the last strength of the blizzard waning. Belarus had changed her clothes to something more acceptable for the weather- thick pants and boots instead of stockings and high heels. She certainly wouldn't have been able to move through the calf-high piles of snow otherwise. She growled at the ice as it soaked through the pants above the boots.

She had the keys to a jeep; big wheels lifting it high over the ground, with four-wheel drive and chained tires. Kumajirou didn't know how she had gotten it- perhaps that was what she had ordered Yury to do.

He jumped in to the passenger seat and she climbed in next, shutting out the weather and starting the vehicle. They drove off slowly, crawling through the thick ice until they got on the actual road that had been plowed through. "Are we going to Canada?"

"Yes," she replied.

…oOo…

The door opened with a creek, which caught Matthew's attention immediately, steeling himself for whoever came to torment him, hoping it was one of the guards or Alec himself- anyone but Dmitri. The others could snigger and insult him and his predicament all they wanted, but they didn't have the right to touch him.

_Boy-Toy, Whore, Bitch,_ and other derogatory names didn't matter to him; even the small comments about sexing him up themselves didn't intimidate him in the least. They could _look_ and say all they wanted; he wouldn't care- because he knew they'd been given orders. Dmitri, no matter how sick and perverted, made it clear: he was the one holding the reins.

If they ignored those rules, it would be at the cost of their own lives.

Matthew almost wished they'd try something.

Unfortunately, as Matthew obviously didn't have Lady Luck on his side this past week, none of those harmless lackeys were the ones waltzing into his prison. Dmitri himself entered with that blasted smile (though, it seemed a little strained) and twinkling eyes that roamed his frame as if he owned the property. Just to be sure the Canadian was still as mouth-watering as ever.

Looking directly into blonde's eyes once more, Matthew glared, showing how angry and prepared he was for anything the man tried to do this time around. Mihailov's face merely glowed in seemingly happy exterior, although, those eyes of yellow glinted just slightly in harshness- something was different, a certain anger present that Matthew did not place there.

"I have an idea," he said cheerfully. He hurried to the bedside, sitting next to the prone blond with flare that only accented how strange the man was behaving. "Since your _friends_ decided to change my social class from _privileged_ to _dirt poor peasant_-" his voice was so resentful, but his smile remained. "-I am wondering if your boss would entitle me to a good reward for returning you to them."

_You mean ransom._ Matthew thought bitterly._ Like they would give you a _reward_._

"After all, maybe I've decided you're too much trouble- get that smirk off your face!" A sharp slap to Canada's face momentarily stopped all thought, and his hair was jerked up in a tight grip that pulled a few hairs free. They looked into each other's eyes, violet unresponsive to the harsh treatment and gold holding a darkening animosity to the calm Canadian in the face of his rage.

"They have no idea what it means to _mind their own business._" That smile was completely gone now- replaced with a dirty glare and bright gold eyes that promised pain. "I didn't think Ivan would have begged for help! Pathetic! What, you think he could have done this himself? How stupid do you think I am?"

The hand in his hair tightened, and Matthew would have choked on a yelped if he had a voice, even as the man shook him.

"You're so damn lucky we've moved out of Moscow, pretentious bitch, otherwise Ivan wouldn't have even gotten to you. So many people looking for the money my fucking father owed them- do you know what kind of sick people they are? You'd be long gone in a drug gang-bang right now, and are you even _grateful_?"

Strands of gold covered the blanket beneath the boy's head now, pulled free from the scalp with the ruthless jerking back and forth as Dmitri yelled. Matthew refused to cry, keeping his eyes shut- he was determined to show _nothing_, knowing that his reactions would only encourage the man.

"I could be much worse of a host! I was giving you _respect_, something you don't even deserve, you _filthy wretch."_ A hand struck out, a fist buried itself in Matthew's abdomen and a choked breath left the boy- Dmitri lashed out again. It wasn't much of a straight punch from Mihailov's position, but more like a ruthless beating as he dropped his fist, not exactly aiming; hitting the chest, the face, the collarbone, the edge of his ribs, the soft underbelly, a little too close to his private parts- anywhere within range.

It was wild, without pause or restraint and Matthew couldn't breathe throughout, he couldn't hear the screamed words of the man above him any more- he didn't know how many times he'd been hit but it seemed so sudden when it stopped. Abrupt silence, with nothing but the soft pants as Dmitri recovered from his unrestrained fury and Matthew tried to regain _any_ oxygen into his stalled lungs.

He was pulled up into a lap, a hand at his back patted gently. "It's okay, breathe," he heard.

He tried, and slowly, with tiny intakes, he felt his lungs begin to function once more and the spots in his vision faded away. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He was being hugged- warmth surrounded him, and a gentle hand soothed across his back. The voice whispered softly against his ear, sounding so sad and sincere.

For a brief second he thought it was Ivan.

In another second, he felt his heart break when he realized it wasn't, and every bit of comfort the embrace could have brought him was destroyed. He smelt vanilla cigars, heard the fake voice- nothing like the soothing, deep timbre of Ivan's- the soft hands – Ivan's were rough and sure. How he yearned for those little things he hadn't realized he loved so much.

"I didn't mean to snap like that, honest."

It made Matthew sick to his stomach- though that could also have been a result of the beating said organ went through; really, his insides felt smashed into jelly. With no barrier against the blows, not even the tension of muscle, it was a direct attack to the unguarded insides. He wouldn't be surprised if he vomited what little was left in there all over the disgusting bastard responsible.

"How can I make it up to you?" _Let me go!_ "I can kiss it better, yes?"

_Dieu, there's no hint of a joke in those words!_ Matthew would have snarled as he was pulled back to allow soft lips to connect with his own. It was sickeningly gentle but it didn't last long, and they parted so that Dmitri could look over the damage he had done, pushing the white shirt all the way up.

Matthew's jaw was clipped and ripening bruises littered the chest and abdomen, dark spots on top of the old ones that had been turning a more yellowish tint in the healing process.

And, of course, the bright red and brown lacerations of his 'artwork' which had re-opened in some places.

"I'm so sorry Angel."

What was with the sudden sympathy, Matthew wondered- he hadn't been sorry about inflicting so much pain earlier. A hand smoothed across his chest, right in the middle of the cross he crudely drew in the pale flesh. In caressed down the marred skin, and Matthew turned his eyes away in revulsion.

"How about I read you a story?"

Canada was lost- the man was completely unpredictable. Here Matthew thought he was going to try violating him again when the guy leaves the bed for a "special book" in order to read to him like some child!

He climbed onto the bed upon returning with some brown leather book, two inches thick, looking a little weary. Matthew was lifted and leaned comfortably back against him, much like the time they had watched Ivan's brawl.

The book was brandished in front of him as if it were precious. "This isn't the original," he stated. "The real one eventually turned to dust I think. Centuries of age does that to literature- such tender things. This one will eventually be copied and then laid to rest."

It was blank, with no inscription on the cover or spine. "This, my dear Angel, is very special- handed down from generation to generation. It's my heirloom… unfortunately, I don't think I will get the chance to pass it down to my kin- not that I want kids in the first place. However, I don't want this to disappear with my death; this… belongs to the people.

"People deserve to know about their Nation- they have the right to know you exist."

Canada's blood ran cold, and he felt numb as the old leather of the cover opened, revealing neat, small Cyrillic lettering on an egg-white page.

The voice above him lowered to a sultry purr, as if in excitement as he read. "_December 23, 1221."_

"_It is not a time of celebration; the winter has arrived, our crops have struggled this year. Many people have come to Kiev, wondering at the misfortune- I cannot tell if our situation will turn out for the better. I turn to council, something I despise to do; however, they are useless in their suggestions. The only way to see what is really happening to the people is to watch the young boy; the one we call Rus._

_He is not worried about the crops, to my amazement- although, of course such things would not concern him, he is not in any danger of starvation. Only the devil would bestow our land with such an indifferent monster. _

_Although, despite his cheeky attitude, I must admit, he is a great warrior. He smiled as I commanded my forces to vindicate the Turkish power in the South after another attack. It did not take long for him to carry out such destruction. Perhaps, regardless of his under-worldly birth, I should be thankful he is fighting for me. _

_On another note, Vladimir Suzdal, as well as the forces of Novgorod, are making things almost impossible to work around. I can sense that this bothers Rus, although I do not know why. _

_I hear rumors that the Mongols to the southeast are contemplating on expanding their territory further North. As if I would allow that. It may be troubling, and more than damaging should they decide to carry out such foolish plans._"

Canada wished he could read himself. He recognized the letters, perhaps he could even pronounciate a few, but he wasn't so far as to know their meanings. The content, if it truly was as Dmitri was reading, had confidential information- the existence of Nation spirits.

"Isn't this amazing?" A light laugh, "Nobody would have the slightest clue what this man was talking about, but if you keep reading…" He flipped the pages with his thumb. "It pulls you in like a novel; actual events, like a diary- the destruction of Kievan Rus' from the inside out, the Mongol's invasion, the battles, the scars Ivan had acquired."

The man leaned down, whispering at his ear, "The enslavement of him and his people lasting three centuries." He pulled away, pausing, watching Matthew's face and smirking at the shock displayed in those eyes. "The way his bosses used him- ignored his people, allowed them to starve, let their own militia terrorize the people they were supposed to protect. He was subjected to such horrible acts- from rape to murder."

"That's what a dictatorship is, right? It's all in here, written by each generation- One major event every decade or so. Do you want to see?"

Matthew was going to see anyway, Dmitri would give him no other choice.

…oOo…

"Five _long hours,_" Alfred growled.

"It would have been longer had we not been in a blasted jet airplane, so quit your whining. Where to now, Ivan?" England asked. "You said Susuman but… what address?"

"Excuse me," a male voice interrupted.

Everyone turned to see a suited man standing at the edge of the runway. It was a bit difficult for the aircraft to land on the snow covered cement but they had managed- Ivan was thankful they could land at all; it would be frustrating if the earlier blizzard forced them away. With a transport plane so large (enough for the thirty armed men Colonel General Zelin promised), two large jeep cabovers, and all the weaponry they could dream of having to go to war with, this was the best option.

Susuman was a small city, their arrival would not garner so much attention as if they landed in Magadan.

"I can help with that, Mr. Braginski."

"Who are you?" Ivan asked wearily, he wasn't sure, but the man did seem familiar.

"Yury Isaenko. I am to serve directly under Miss Natalya Arlovskaya; the Miss has ordered me to take you to the address where the Nation's representative Cana-"

Gilbert stepped forward, "You'll take us to Mattie, great, lead the way."

He nodded, and turned to a vehicle on the edge of the iced pavement. Ivan halted him. "Нет, you will ride with us."

Ivan received the keys from one of the soldiers to operate one of the jeeps transported within the aircraft. "Keep the radio on at all times, once we are sure the target is inside, we'll issue the attack," he ordered. The man nodded, snapping out a "yes sir" as Ivan turned to the second in command of his little brigade- the pilot. "You stay here, keep five men with you- be ready to leave at any time."

The rest of the team piled into a vehicle, the soldiers in the back, underneath the tarp cover, carrying weaponry and extra ammunition. Ivan could've had the choice to bring a 50 caliber, or a rocket launcher- the commander had asked if he wanted a tank to go with the miniature army he assembled as well.

Russia declined, if only because they wouldn't be able to use such weapons if Canada was inside the building; once he was safe, Ivan could just as well annihilate everything in sight without such things- quick deaths would only show mercy.

"How did _Belarus _get their location, down to the address?"

Yury, from the pinned position against America and the vehicle's door, answered calmly and without much emotion in his tone. "Miss Natalia was able to get the man, Alec Zaytsev's, cell phone number. I was able to track it, as he lacks an efficient trace defense."

Alfred frowned. Ivan mirrored the expression even as his stern gaze remained on the road.

Prussia, as blunt and insulting as possible, asked, "She didn't sleep with him, did she?"

The once emotionless bodyguard finally showed spark as he snapped out an "Of course not!" just as Russia landed a punch on the albino's arm.

"My sister would do no such thing!"

"Alright, damn, just checking," he sniggered.

…oOo…

Steadily, as the hours went by, Kumajirou's patience eventually snapped. Belarus had taken them out to a one-roomed cabin in the middle of the woods where she assembled some kind of sniper rifle beside the window, looking out the scope every once and a while and humming.

She was waiting for Ivan she said, and yet, Kumajirou's agitation- the wait, the fear, the _lack of progression _only built. They said they were going to save Canada, but Kumajirou doubted it; where was Canada? Certainly not within range, that was for sure!

The polar bear sat on the cold floor, feeling the grainy wood underneath his paws damp and rotting; this entire cabin was deserted and in need of repair, it should be condemned. Holes in the roof allowed for snow to fall through, and there was no hint of furniture anywhere, only a hole in the flooring for what looked to be a fireplace.

He contemplated chewing the woman's discarded hat that sat innocently next to her sitting form. Or the panted legs crossed in front of her as she leaned against the wall, sitting in a relatively dry spot. "Where is Canada?" he demanded.

Her cool eyes slowly moved to regard him; she seemed bored and uncaring. "In the old vacation home about half a mile away," she replied monotonously.

"Why are we here then?"

A thin eyebrow rose, "Impatient are we? There are many guards, and Vanya will be here soon. We will make our move then."

Kumajirou growled, glaring out the window. He was so very uncomfortable in this small space, and something, perhaps a sixth sense, warned him of opposing danger soon to come. A feeling not his own but Canada's, was heightening once more; a rising panic, pain in his chest, his face, everywhere. A sickening sensation, as if the animal would throw up a meal that did not agree with him.

He lowered himself to the ground, closing his eyes in a useless effort to stop the hurt.

_Let me go!_ A scream.

Kumajirou leaped to his feet, black eyes dark and angry. He was tired of this. Before Natalia could ask what he was doing, he took off- sprinting from the cabin's interior through the glassless window. Jumping straight over the half-wall in one bound, hitting the snowy ground with his paws spread wide. Belarus gasped, scrambling to her feet, but Kumajirou didn't spare her a single glance.

She hadn't pointed out any direction, but half a mile was not very far to a bear's nose, and the strongest sent of humans came from the east. In a split second he was off, bounding through the piles of snow like he was made for such things- and he was. The soft pads of his feet were natural snow-shoes, spreading across the thick snow and keeping him above it, strong back legs providing the spring, allowing him to cross so much distance in one leap.

He hadn't run so fast in a long time- hadn't the need or want to. He hadn't done many things a polar bear _would_ do; swim, hunt, run, play… He'd basked in the glow of Canada's care, and maybe he took such things for granted- but he'd always offer anything he could to the boy he'd known since birth.

He'd die for the boy, still asking "Who?" just so he can see that smile; feel that laugh vibrate through the chest.

"_Canada, the one who feeds you_."

"_Oh_."

The trees broke off, leading into a bare circle with a log cabin in the middle. He slowed his gait, unsure if this was the place or if he would be seen. The snow around him would lend the bear a bit of natural color but Kumajirou knew they would be looking for anything that moved; anything more than a glance would give him away.

He crawled across the lawn slowly, watching the door and windows carefully. Nobody was around- no sound or movement, but once again, Kumajirou _felt_ it before any physical sign. He turned to see a figure in one of the windows, pushing the casement window out like one would open a door. He seemed normal; plain blue shirt, jeans, jet black hair, brown eyes, and he looked to the polar bear a dozen feet away from the house with astonishment.

Polar bears were not native to these parts, perhaps he had reason to worry, especially because Kumajirou was not a normal bear- he was on a mission: find Matthew, and kill everyone in the way. The only thing he had to do was find out if this really was where Canada had been taken.

"Alec, look!" The man said to someone back inside the home.

Kumajirou tilted his head, coming forward in order to look more closely at the human speaking. There was a shuffling and Kumajirou's ears flickered as he trained every sense he had on the two. The first man was no one he had seen before, but the moment the second stepped into the frame of the window, everything clicked so easily.

Brown hair, brown eyes, the same detergent, same shampoo and cologne; he recognized it all, in a way only an animal could.

The man who kidnapped Canada; the culprit- the reason.

He recognized the polar bear as well; it only took a second for him to identify the pet of the prone Canadian he had been ordered to kidnap. His eyes widened, and with a jerk, he threw himself aside.

Kumajirou burst forward in two leaps, a snarl of fury sounding. He landed on the first human- the one who first saw him, letting his claws sink into the man's shoulders even as he leaned forward to clamp his jaws around the jugular. He tore away without much thought to the death-gasping gurgles, landing inside the home amidst screams of fright from more human guards. Alec jumped away from the near death, a pistol in hand, barrel pointing directly at the animal.

Alec didn't get the chance to shoot; a whiz of a bullet impacted his right shoulder, blowing him back a good couple of feet before he toppled over. With a stunned and pained look on his face, he stared out the window above Kumajirou with surprise- though he couldn't see the hiding Belarus from so far away, he surely wasn't expecting a sniper. The polar bear had his opening, but another human was on him in a second.

Another bullet past just above his ear, blasting part of the sheetrock from the wall next to him; Kumajirou growled, leaping onto the next human and taking a chunk of flesh out of him as well. The room descended into chaos, two people down, five others to go, each of them fired their weapon without much aim- Kumajirou was pretty fast for them, and more than once the bear's hidden ally struck true with a shot of their own.

However, five against one was hardly fair, especially when the lone enemy was without modern technology. All too soon did a bullet actually hit its mark- and Kumajirou let out a yelp of pain, crashing into the wall, snarling as his entire right side burned as if it were branded. He saw blood, though he had already been covered in it by the time he was hit. His foreleg hurt, straining against his weight. Still, he forced himself to move, barreling into the guard's legs, snapping at the ankles, sending him back.

He fell into the fireplace. One that was brightly lit…

An entirely new form of scream left the human as he caught fire and Kumajirou backed away from the heat fearfully, not wanting to feel the burn as the man flung himself around in a panic. The other guards shouted anew and Kumajirou glanced back and forth, wondering if he could use the distraction to kill the others or find Canada.

The carpet caught fire, and it steadily spread to the fabric couch; the man's frantic movements to put himself out only carried the flames across the room. Everything he touched caught; the drapes, the armchair.

Kumajirou heard heavy footsteps beyond the noisy fire cackling louder as it gorged on its surroundings and the bear knew he would not be able to take on any more guards. He turned, attempting to sniff the air around him for the familiar maple. He took a step in the direction of the hallway, whimpering as his right side protested, almost sending him to the floor.

He panted, commanding his body to move- Canada needed him; he could feel it, he _knew_ the boy was near.

A door opened, and Kumajirou looked up, eyes lightening as a sweet scent tickled his nose- relief, heartache, happiness- _I found you_.

Golden eyes met black.

The blank face of Dmitri Mihailov regarded him as if he were nothing but a bothersome bug. A gun rose, taking aim, and Kumajirou could see the sudden smirk on those lips before a deafening roar of a gunshot echoed through the house.

…oOo…

As instructed, Ivan pulled the vehicle up to a dilapidated cabin in the woods. Yury had said Belarus was observing the layout- waiting for them to arrive before moving down to the vacation home a half-mile away. Russia was fully expecting to get out and take a look himself before they set this plan in motion, but before he could even put the jeep in park, Belarus came barreling out of the cabin with a rifle slung over her shoulder.

She ran to them and Ivan felt a sharp intake of fear as he took in her pale face- she was scared, worried, angry- _something was wrong_.

"What happened?"

She pointed east, "Kumajirou," she gasped, jerking open the back door and climbed, basically across Germany's lap, in order to get inside the jeep. Ivan looked in that direction, not understanding what she could be pointing at-

Red and black smeared against the blue of the sky and white of the snow. Thick smoke rising from hungry red flames, all originating from the vacation home Matthew was supposed to be held in.

Russia slammed down on the accelerator, sending snow skidding out from the tires and the passengers pushed back in their seats from the sudden take off. He sped down the street as fast as he dared on the icy roads, pulling to a sliding stop in the driveway.

He threw open the door as soon as it was in park- Matthew was in that house, _burning_.

"Ivan, wait!" He wasn't sure who said it, but his coat was pulled, him along with it, back into the safety of the vehicle, just as a burst of bullets hit the front.

Yelling from the back caught his attention; the soldiers jumped from the jeep, recognizing their cue for battle and more than willing to put their training to use, returning fire.

They provided the cover needed as the others evacuated the front end, Russia more cautious this time, running up to the connected garage as soon as he was cleared, rifle in hand. He ducked behind the solid wood logs that made up the exterior- America, Belarus, and Prussia right behind him.

Germany, France, and England stayed with the soldiers, attempting to gain some kind of advantage; after all, it seemed they had more fire-power already. This was unprecedented though; their carefully laid plans were ruined- no chance at a surprise attack or any kind of time to surround the fortress…

The roar of the flames grew louder, buffeted by gunfire and a strange chopping noise.

"Russia," Gilbert called. "A helicopter!"

He looked up, squinting through the black smog surrounding them. He couldn't see it, but he dearly hoped Matthew wasn't inside, escaping only to be hunted down again. Although, if Matthew remained in the house - the one consumed with flames and looking about to collapse any second… that wasn't a great prospect either.

Alfred took hold of his coat, bringing the Russian closer in order to hear over the noise. "Find my brother, commie," he hissed.

He needn't be told twice but he did pause when Belarus remained a step behind him as he started for the house entrance. He turned toward her-

"I'm not going back," she said defiantly, glaring at him. "You told me to watch over Kumajirou- I didn't. He's hurt in there, I have to get him! You can't carry both of them!"

Russia didn't have the time to argue with her- he continued past the side of the garage, peeking around the corner quickly before darting inside the back door, rifle ready to take out the few men who had been hiding there, firing their own guns out the window. They dropped without an audible sound and Ivan moved on, passed the countertops of a light kitchen and the quaint round dining table.

The door across from him was shut, and yet it emitted a harsh heat. There was a stairway to the left, but Ivan didn't think it was the right direction- it was this doorway, the living room, he needed to pass. He cursed.

"Natalia, stand back," he warned. She did as was told, and with a ruthless kick, the thin door was blown off its hinges and into a pool of intense heat. He covered his face with his arm as the heat radiated through the room, and black smoke filled the air.

The living room wasn't quite so bad, he tried to tell himself, although the size of the flames and the heat he felt while still at such distance, didn't bode well. He looked back to his sister, seeing her wide blue eyes look fearfully from the fire to her brother. He shouldered his rifle, glaring at the only thing separating him from Canada.

"I'll get Kumajirou, you stay here!"

She didn't have the chance to protest, and her words left off in a choked cry as he suddenly took off, jumping through the fire without a single hint of fear.

He kept running, not wanting to stop for a single second as he sprinted past the room. Heat licking at his clothes, he tried to cover his face as much as he could, his eyes watering with the temperature. He couldn't breathe, the oxygen depleted- and the searing heat of the air would likely damage his lungs if he tried. He ended up in a hallway, finally slowing to a stop and coughing, ducking down to see better and to keep from inhaling the smoke rising above.

Everything around looked black and red, and he hoped Kumajirou wasn't anywhere near the room he had came from- if so… well, he didn't know if Kumajirou's spirit would be completely destroyed by such damage.

A faint sparkle of white- his eyes latched onto it and relief fell over him. He kneeled in front of the animal, unable to tell if he was alive or dead, but taking him to safety anyway was a must. Gathering the white, red, and black bundle in his arms, he turned around; staring back into the flames he had came from.

With a pause, he took his jacket off; wrapping it around the bear in his hold, making sure no fur was showing.

He started to run back to Belarus.

A groan sounded as he passed the doorway into the kitchen, and he coughed violently as he tried to breath once more. Natalia was at his side in an instant- he gave her the covered Kumajirou. "Ivan! Your scarf!"

She jerked at it, and he couldn't even be surprised as it came undone, licking fire at the end. She threw it away. "Are you okay?"

"Matvey," he choked, he needed to go back and get him. "Get out of here, the house is going to fall."

"Ivan, wait, maybe he's not here-"

"He's here," Russia interrupted, getting ready to run again. "Get out Belarus; I won't come back this way."

He took off, feeling his skin stinging with the touch of fire, though it wasn't enough to cause serious injury- his arms were bare without his jacket. Arriving at the hallway, steadily becoming just as hot and dangerous as the living room, he looked around, coughing and gasping for clean air.

Another groan, and with a loud _crash_ the ceiling of the living room collapsed.

Ivan began opening doors, calling out Canada's name. First was a bathroom, second- empty bedroom, third; empty bedroom. There was no reply, and when he threw open the last door, he was just about as desperate as they come.

"C-Canada!"

He lurched forward, hovering over the blonde and immediately disconnecting any and all restraints and IVs. "Matvey!" His hand came up to rest on the Canadian's uninjured cheek, and he shook the boy gently. There was nothing- not even the flicker of those violet eyes. "Matvey!"

Another crash and Ivan pulled Matthew closer, ready to protect him from any collapses or gunfire. He picked the boy up easily, hands underneath his legs and across the back. Holding him close for security, Ivan peeked out of the window in the boy's room, facing east, away from the action of gunfire. Never completely letting go of the boy, he brought one arm up, using the force of his elbow to break the glass.

Blood that resulted from that was ignored- Ivan didn't even feel it in the rush to get out of the building, though he did feel the stark cold of snow as he landed on the ground outside. He gasped, stumbling to his feet, looking around him for any wayward enemies. He couldn't chance walking around the front where all the action was. He couldn't use his rifle with Matthew in his arms, and he would not open the possibility of the boy getting hit with a stray bullet.

He took off into the surrounding forest, tightening his hold on the fragile Nation in his arms, hoping the kid was breathing and hoping Belarus and the others were able to get away.

…Thank You…

XD I'm evil, aren't I? I loved writing this chapter. I hope you all enjoy reading it.

_Translations:_

Что (Russian): What?

Помогите мне! (Russian): Help me!

Fick dich (German): Fuck you

_Disclaimer:_ Not mine! But I deserve it, don't I?


	31. Blanc: White

**Part III**

Chapter 31: Blanc: White

"_Then there was Maria of Tver, married to Simeon who ruled in 1340- she would set up appointments with the guards who would tie Ivan up nice and good for her. She liked it kinky, see. She had four sons, who died mysteriously very young- Simeon must've known her treachery. It raises the question; if one of you can impregnate a human… would that offspring be anything but human as well? Those four children couldn't have possibly come from Ivan, could they?"_

The sounds of gunfire, yells from the living and dying, the crashes of the vacation home as the building fell in on itself, wood burning and flames rejoicing- they all dulled. Ivan continued through the snow, wading through it and looking around for any sign of the danger he had left behind. Matthew was clutched in his arms tightly, the blond head lolled against his shoulder limply.

He couldn't feel the warmth of breath the boy should be emitting. It built up Ivan's worry, but the Russian couldn't stop yet, not when he was still so close to a battlefield. Only when they were completely enveloped in silence did he stop, ducking behind a tree and its mound of snow at the base. He sat down on the cold ice, placing the boy in his lap upon taking notice of the little clothing Matthew wore. Keeping the Canadian as warm as possible was his priority.

Eyes roamed the thin frame, taking in the pale color, the bruises marking the boy's face, the burn on his cheek, shadows underneath the eyes. His right hand slowly pressed against the chest, _feeling_ the lacerations under the thin fabric of his shirt- indeed, he felt those rather easily, but the light movements of _breathing_ were startlingly absent.

Bringing the hand up to the slender neck, he brushed across a ring of more bruises- marks of a hand- gently feeling for a pulse. He waited. An aching pain in his chest built as he felt no beat underneath the pads of his fingers- no circulation of blood, no movement at all. The heart had stopped.

Matthew was dead.

Ivan waited as long as he could, hoping to feel the life return- as if that would suddenly make everything okay. However, Canada's limp body, devoid of life, was all that awaited him.

He slumped forward, the arm that had remained on Matthew's waist to hold him up tightened, the hand on the boy's neck buried in golden hair and he found himself hugging the Canadian. Embracing the boy tenderly, closing his dark violet eyes and taking a deep breath. The scent of Canada- sweet, like baked goods- was tainted by the iron of blood, and the clinging smoke from the fire.

"Прости меня," he whispered. "I failed."

He stayed that way, holding Matthew against him tightly, and yet he was so gentle, as if he were afraid of breaking him anymore than he already was. Feeling the warmth of a living body deplete came with a strange detachment- Ivan didn't want anything resembling death touching the boy. He detested the chilling skin, the way Matthew simply _laid _there, so brokenly.

It should not have been like this.

Perhaps he truly thought Matthew would be perfectly fine when Ivan arrived- maybe he was much too optimistic and confident, but he'd imagined himself barging in, killing Dmitri in the most horrific way possible, and then Matthew would be safe by his side once more. A smile would light the Canadian's face and those bright eyes would look so catching in the light. Of course, Ivan could even expect a hug in gratitude, and for once, the Russian would welcome and indulge in the contact.

This was far from his vision of grandeur.

Dmitri must have escaped in that helicopter they had heard before (why he didn't take Matthew, Ivan had no clue, nor did he care at the moment), many of his men probably died in this excursion, and now they were out in the middle of the Siberian forests with little clothing. Oh, and the person he was meant to protect was _dead_ in his arms.

Why did nothing go as planned? Was Dmitri truly that many steps ahead of him? Could the Nation actually be outsmarted by his own civilian- who had lived only twenty or so years compared to Ivan's centuries? How the hell did he know so much- what was his _goal_? Ivan didn't know… He didn't know _anything_ and Matthew had paid the price.

Ivan took another deep breath, his head rising, feeling the soft threads of gold on his cheek. He turned towards them, touching his lips to the Canadian's forehead. "I'm sorry, Matthew. Canada. I'm sorry."

Those words were unfamiliar coming from his mouth but they seemed to be the most appropriate thing to say, and he couldn't help but repeat them, as if they would amplify the sincerity and hopefully Matthew would be more entitled to forgive him.

Still, they had sat long enough, and Ivan knew he had to move- It would not do to have Matthew out in the cold for long. He would catch frostbite much easier now, suffering from it later on when his body slowly started to revive itself. Besides, Ivan wouldn't like to spend another second out in this weather if he could help it- without his jacket, the wind seemed to cut right through him, a terrible chill seeping into his very bones- already his fingers were numb within their gloves.

Civilization was not far, he knew the layout of his land by heart, even if he hadn't personally excavated every inch of it before. By car, it would take fifteen minutes to reach their destination- 10 miles away. By foot, it would take Ivan at least two hours to travel across this kind of terrain.

To make things worse, the sun was setting, casting the forest into darkening shades of blue until, within an hour, pitch black darkness would rein over the forests and he- without any light to aid him.

_This is ironic_, he thought dryly. Just before leaving his home, he had made sure they had everything they could possibly need- extra clothing, flashlights, batteries, food and water…

Those things were with the others- who probably didn't need them as much as he did right now.

Standing with Canada safely tucked in against him, he tried to shield the boy as much as possible from the wind- unfortunately, if he was going to attempt that, he might as well walk backwards. He was walking against the current as it was. With some maneuvering, he placed the lifeless Nation on his back, hooking his arms under the bare thighs and bending slightly to keep the boy's weight against him.

He started through the forest, wading through the knee-high snow (higher in some places than that), and making sure to keep them on the right track- it had been so long since he used the sky as his guide- he kept moving East, away from where the sun had disappeared over the tree line.

An immature mountain seemed to stand between him and the city he was desperately trying to get to and his legs were beginning to feel the strain thirty minutes into their voyage; his uphill climb getting more difficult with every step. Matthew's presence at his back kept him going, as he knew he couldn't pause, couldn't take a break until he got them both to safety. He was shivering quite violently as well, coupled with his short breaths.

That was good though; the moment the cold seemed to not affect him was the moment hypothermia came to play. He knew the rules of winter very well and in any other situation he would build a shelter for them to stay in- it would relieve them of the wind chill and temperature. However, it would be more dangerous for them to travel in the morning. The setting sun was in fact, a good thing- he could easily navigate, and the glare off the snow would have been a problem for his vision.

Two hours out in this weather was deadly, especially with their minimum clothing, no matter the time of day or night. The wind buffeted his face until Ivan could feel nothing but the stinging sensation, like pins pushing their way into his skin. Eventually, that faded into numbness as well. His breaths shortened, the vapor of his exhales lasted but a second in the stale air and the crunch of his feet over the snow became a steady beat.

His senses however, were far from lax- his concentration was all over- from the shadows of the trees, to the scampering noises creatures of the night made; a howl of wolves in the distance. Ivan did not focus on these things out of fear- he had long since gotten over such silly worries of there being monsters in the dark. He was not frightened of the eerie noises or the tricks the night played on the easily manipulated minds of lost fools.

Ivan was paranoid of the more human enemies. The ones who could potentially be following him, waiting to take back the boy who rested against him so peacefully- as peacefully as death could be. He was afraid of General Winter showing up before he could even see the illuminating lights of the city he was striving so hard to reach. He could only hope not to catch frostbite- his face, Canada's feet- they were way too open to the harsh chill and the fierce wind.

When at last it seemed they were over the peak of the variable hill, he was able to speed up, using the force of gravity to cover more ground while trying not to slip on the ice. From his high altitude he could see a light against the night sky, and he chuckled wearily in relief- the ending in sight.

A low rumble made him freeze in the descent, his mind automatically thinking of the worst; avalanche, a snowmobile operated by the enemy, distant gunfire even. He looked around him warily, his arms tightening underneath Matthew's legs, keeping him steady against his back.

Something moved to his left and Ivan's entire form tensed; his right hand ready to snatch up his rifle to return anything given. A second later, and he couldn't help but relax; even as what stepped from behind a barrier of trees was just as dangerous in nature.

An orange and black stripped animal with amber eyes that seemed to glow- a white underbelly, extending from the bottom of its chin to the tip of its tail- a tiger. As long as Ivan was tall, with paws as big as Ivan's face, no more than twenty feet away- the animal studied him, whiskers flickering as he took in the Nation's scent. He must have been male by his size, and the stance- proud, strong, majestic- perhaps Ivan had wondered into his territory.

Russia couldn't exactly apologize for his intrusion, and wouldn't have chosen another route in the first place had he even known, but he hoped the large cat would not attempt to fight him- usually animals had more sense than to mess with Nation Spirits. Unlike humans, the more instinct driven species somehow realized on some level, that the ones who represented them should not be messed with.

Another rumble from the tiger, the ear atop his head flickered and the large face turned away as if Ivan's presence didn't matter to him anymore. It was not apathy he showed next though- the hair along his back stood on end and the beginning of a vicious growl started in his chest. Ivan's gaze followed, to see what made the animal so angry- he saw nothing, but that did not mean nothing was there.

The tiger gave a small growl of hatred, but turned a moment later, bounding away from the thing he did not like. His footsteps were as silent as the predator he was known to be, even as he ran over a dune of snow and out of sight.

The entire exchange put Ivan on guard, his small steps forward full of caution as he watched the barrier of trees the tiger had growled so menacingly at. Ivan would trust that the tiger had a _reason_ for such a reaction, and whatever a top predator feared was usually considered unsafe for everybody else.

His steps quickened, booted feet crunched the snow underneath, sinking his leg down deep, passed the lip of his footwear and soaking the pants up to his thigh. The other foot followed, the process repeated; the effort to push himself forward wore on his nerves (how he _hated_ snow!) and despite all his abnormal endurance, Ivan didn't have unlimited energy. This kind of travel, coupled with the lack of proper gear (like snow-shoes; those would have been _really_ helpful at the moment!), made it way more difficult than need be.

He strived forward, estimating that he only had thirty minutes worth of walking to go, and the prospect of a warm room where he could properly check on Matthew gave him the motivation to pick up the pace.

A growl from behind- Ivan spun around so quick he almost made himself dizzy. Dark mauve roamed the expanse of darkness. The trees provided too much cover; the snow looked pristine and untouched except for along his path. He saw nothing, but this time, he _felt_ and knew there was something there.

Another rumble and Ivan's eyes snapped to a dune of snow in the distance. The snow shifted, and a sudden flash of light penetrated the darkness. It was a snowmobile- driven by a pompous kid if the ruckus laughter was any indication. The engine revved, snow flying out the back as the boy slid down the hill, another motorized sled right behind him.

Ivan's entire form slumped in relief, his hand that had snatched the stock of his rifle in anticipation, relaxed, and violet eyes closed in gratitude, a small exasperated smile on his face.

In any other situation Ivan would have skeptically called these children idiots- riding out in the middle of the night, in such dangerous, unpredictable weather. However, at the moment, he wouldn't dare admonish them- their mere presence helped him greatly, especially when they drove right up to them, smiles on their faces and asking the heaven sent words; "Do you need a ride?"

…oOo…

"Russia! Belarus!"

Arms wrapped around Natalia as soon as she stumbled from the garage, choked breaths and strained words that cracked, mumbling from her sore throat. She saw the brown leather jacket with the patched-on star- the coat worn with age but well taken care of. It could only belong to America, and she allowed the man to support her, fearing she'd collapse otherwise.

"Where is Ivan?" he asked.

"In-side," she coughed. "The roof f-fell but, maybe… on the other side."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

She was guided forward, around the exterior walls of the garage where she heard the rough voice of Prussia. "Everyone scattered into the woods. They won't survive the night out there. We better go too. Where is Russia?"

"If he has Mattie, he won't be coming back here until the action calmed down." Alfred replied. "They probably took off to the plane."

"Bruder, is everyone with you?" Germany asked, the heavy steps of the man closing the distance between them. Several others followed and Belarus heard the accented voice of France as he gave the status report of who was wounded or dead in their little group.

"We did alright I suppose, but this could have gone a lot better if he had the upper hand here," Arthur growled. "What the bloody hell started that fire?"

Most of the smoke expelled from her lungs, Natalia straightened up from her leaning position against Alfred's side, her eyes, slightly damp with tears from the heat and smog she had been surrounded in cleared. "It was Kumajirou," she stated. Her eyes went down to the large bundle in her arms. "He ran ahead before I could stop him and tried to save Canada himself."

The black coat of Ivan's covered everything and she freed one arm to peel back the fabric. A black nose, a muzzle smeared with red. The eyes were closed, and the small body remained eerily still. The others gathered around, watching as more of the jacket pulled away and a tense atmosphere of dread washed over them as they saw two clean holes of a bullet wound. One in the foreleg, just below the shoulder of his right side, and another buried straight into the chest cavity, directly on target. There was no way an animal could survive that.

Alfred's hand shook as it came up to the bear's muzzle. His palm passed the nose and then retreated. "He's not breathing," he said. "Do you know where a Veterinarian might be? We should get him to a doctor."

Prussia snorted, "I have no idea where we are on a map, much less where a Vet would be."

"Ivan brought a medic," Ludwig replied. "We may just have to take the bullet out ourselves."

"I don't know a bear's anatomy!" England snapped. "I doubt anybody here does-"

"I don't think that matters, Angleterre. After all… it's not like he's still alive while we operate."

"We still want to do this right, frog, this is Matthew's _bear_, and he's an important part of him somehow. I'm worried about how his death is affecting the lad- any more pain on the beast and you could kill Canada too."

"If he's not already…" America whispered, but everyone heard and they all turned anxious glances to the blond. The American shook his head, breathing in shakily. "Whenever Mattie got sick, the bear would too. If Kumajirou was ever hurt, Mattie got hurt- you couldn't _see_ it but you could tell."

Belarus, holding the animal bundle in her arms tighter, frowned deeply. "Vanya told me he was important. The bear was complaining about pains in his chest earlier, to the point where he had trouble walking. This was directly related to Canada's pain. So whatever Canada felt, Kumajirou would also feel…"

"If that connection worked the other way around…" Prussia added, trailing off in the end, for it needn't be said- if Canada felt what Kumajirou did, and Kumajirou was dead, that could only mean Matthew was no longer living as well.

England cleared his throat, trying to keep from thinking such horrific things. "If that's the case, we need to take care of the bear first- the sooner the better."

"Let's do this now then," Alfred growled, running to the military vehicle, and opening the tailgated back. "Back here!"

Arthur opened his mouth, ready to argue- hadn't he just said they needed an experienced Veterinarian for this sort of thing? France's hand on his shoulder gave him pause. "There is no time. I agree with you, Angleterre, but we simply cannot wait and find someone. Besides, what reason could we give for a doctor like that to pull a bullet from a dead polar bear's chest? It would be suspicious and call attention to ourselves, oui?"

The Englishman frowned, disliking how Francis (very rarely) spoke so logically about the matter. He knew their time was short, and was explaining themselves to the proper doctor for this sort of thing really worth it? "Fine," he conceded, with a less than enthused voice.

Belarus was already climbing into the back, along with Prussia who was laying out a plastic tarp for the bear to lie on and turning on powerful lamp-like lights for better visibility. Germany called over the medic, but only his tools were needed- the trauma kit every combat medic should have, contained everything they would need. Scalpel, tongs, clotting agents, gauze, and pain relieving medicine.

Although it was not decided upon formally, Ludwig was the one pulling on the sterile gloves fresh out of the vacuum-sealed package. Arthur knelt beside him, ready to hand the German anything he requested. Together, they began to clean the blood away, shearing away a patch of stained fur to get to the dark tinted skin underneath.

The back of the vehicle was filled with a tense, awkward silence, as the group of nations watched, some trying to remain as close as possible without being in the way, while the others lurked just at the tailgate, waiting anxiously.

"It didn't hit the heart," Ludwig stated, looking into the gaping wound with a concentrated expression. "It looks like the lung."

"Great, so he suffocated to death," Prussia remarked with a snarky tone. "I love how Birdie gets no breaks."

Silver metal tongs reached in, Arthur leaned forward to catch the flow of blood with a towel. A red covered bullet was extracted carefully, with a steady hand; Ludwig brought it up to the light. "S and B. 7.25," he read from the back stamp of the round metal.

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "Is it brass encased?"

"Ja."

"When I searched Mihailov's house the other day I found an old TT-33 pistol from the Soviet Union days. I bet that's what he used… damn it, I could've taken that."

"He would've used another weapon," Arthur replied. "It's all the same."

"Yeah but-"

"Quiet," Natalia hissed. Her glare fleeting as she turned dark eyes to the animal before her. The wound was covered with a crystallized mineral that would disinfect as well as stop the hemorrhaging. The truck's occupants held their breaths, listening acutely as if they could _hear_ the abnormal healing begin.

Belarus bent over the bear; a curtain of blond falling over her shoulder, head lilted- until her ear almost touched the matted fur. "I think I hear a heartbeat…"

"Get the respiratory kit."

A flurry of movement; Natalia leaned back in order to make room for the plastic tube Germany carefully slid passed sharp teeth. With a clear passageway to the lungs, they monitored the breaths taken, taking in the fact that the bear could, for now, only function with one. The other collapsed organ would take time to heal, even with help from professional care.

At least he was alive.

…oOo…

"_Yes, we're fine, thank you_," Ivan mumbled. His pace was quick as he traveled down the hallway on the way to the room he had paid to use for the night. The owner of the quaint building followed behind him- an elderly woman who immediately realized how dire of a situation Ivan and his awfully quiet charge were in. Apparently, she had known the two teenage boys who had given him a ride there; their story of how they found the two men in the middle of the forest with such little clothing was instantly transformed into an emergency event.

Ivan had to thoroughly convince her not to call or take them to any kind of hospital; it would have done no good and he didn't need the attention it would call to them. He just needed a room- somewhere he could lay Matthew down, preferably under as many blankets as possible, and be sure of his state.

The old bat behind him didn't understand how much he needed to be _left alone_ right now. She was but a few steps behind him, wringing her withered hands in the hem of her sweater, the lines on her face deepening in concern for two strangers she had only just met. "_He looks hurt, are you su-_"

The navy painted door with a gold number seven hanging on the top came into view and Ivan shoved the metal key inside the lock, turning it violently until the wood swung open into a small room. _The thing about small towns,_ Ivan thought bitterly to himself_. Is that everyone knows everyone. _He was afraid of the gossip that might spread; leading anyone directly to them.

He stepped inside, growling as the woman slipped into the doorway instantly- she was doing this on purpose! With a calmness that belied the anger under the surface, Ivan strode to the single bed in the middle, with heavy quilts on top and four pillows.

He pushed the pillows away roughly, pulling back the covers and turning his back on the mattress, gently letting the boy on his back fall to the softness. His violet eyes glanced at the human- she was still talking, something about a doctor- "_Look, if you want to help_," he interrupted her. "_Get a first-aid kit and something warm- soup or hot tea, warm water, more blankets, extra clothes if you have them around, I'll be willing to pay you in full for everythi_-"

"_Nonsense, my boy, I'll get you everything you need. Be right back_."

Finally, she spun on her heel, flying down the hallway as fast as her short, old legs could carry her. Ivan shut the door behind her, an explosive sigh showing his stress. He turned the bolt in the knob, and connected the chain to the metal lip on the wood for extra security.

Then he moved to the one window on the other side of the room, flicking away the curtains to check the view outside- nothing but the desolate parking lot in the front, with no more than two vehicles and the snowmobiles they arrived on. He made sure the window was locked closed as well before the draperies were pulled together to block all vision in or out.

Each room came with an a/c and heating unit, located directly underneath the window. He fiddled with the knobs, noticing how his hands shook from both the cold and his frazzled nerves. Heat blasted from the vents atop the machine and Ivan turned to the next thing on his mental checklist; there was a door to his left, leading to a bathroom- he pushed it open, peeking inside.

Small in size, with the countertop and toilet on one side, the tub on the other- Ivan even went so far as to shove the vinyl shower liner out of the way to see if any ghosts invaded the porcelain space.

He returned to the bedroom, eyes roaming over the armoire near the window and the black fabric couch near the entrance. The two bedside tables held both a corded phone and a lamp respectively.

Convinced that the room was free of hidden enemies, Ivan's muscles seemed to lessen in tension, but only minimally. He would remain jumpy and agitated for a long while, especially while his body ran off all the adrenalin and energy it took to keep him warm out in the weather.

Even though Ivan's main priority was the Canadian on the bed, he turned to the boy with slight dread at what he might find. He hadn't looked over the boy since the beginning of his trek, and part of him was sure the boy would be near blue with the cold; without the energy a living body gave off, it was impossible to keep warm.

Indeed, Matthew's skin remained a pale white, only broken by the multitude of muddy colored bruises, the lips tinged light blue, gaunt patches under the eyes and the hollows of his cheeks stood out more than usual. He didn't look like the warm, cheerful boy he remembered- sure, the skin may have been pale, but it had a healthy glow to it. Now, it was as if the color had been drained from the Canadian.

Ivan pulled his leather gloves off with his teeth, carefully brushing across the uninjured cheek, feeling the stark cold of the skin and pushing away the errant curl that seemed just as dull and lifeless as the rest of him.

A knock at the door, coupled with the voice of an old woman's nagging was heard, and Ivan kept hold of his rifle as he opened the door slightly. He took a pile of blankets and folded clothes, with a white box on the top, from her with one arm, not letting the woman pass by to see inside the room as he threw them onto the couch. Then were a bunch of plastic canteens, four in all, and full of hot water, radiating a heat that chased the chill from Ivan's fingers as he took hold of them.

The next thing she picked up seemed to be a large thermos- soup for the two of them, and if they needed or wanted any more, she'd be happy to supply- the woman informed them with a determined, serious voice. As if they would be afraid to ask anything of her.

Ivan took it with forced gratitude- as truly thankful as he was for her help, her presence bothered him- "_It's late,"_ he told her. "_We will sleep now, please do not tell anyone we are here._" He shut the door in what he hoped wouldn't be perceived as rude, almost cutting off the woman's sentence- he didn't want to have to explain or give away more information than needed.

Re-engaging all locks on the door, Ivan set his rifle beside the couch, closer to the bed, not the door, and put the thermos on the nightstand. Finally, he was able to give every bit of focus to the Canadian and he took a large breath, steadying himself before carefully undoing the buttons holding white shirt together.

For modesty, Ivan pulled the quilt on the bed over the legs and lower area for decency, as he found no injuries below the belt-line in the first place. However, he winced as the first of many raised lines carved into the chest were revealed and the cotton of the shirt caught on the roughness of it, something Ivan was cautiously trying to avoid.

Pulling the lapels off to either side, the Russian slowly pulled the Canadian's limp arms through the sleeves, checking the boy's back for any wounds before removing the offending clothing from the blond entirely. Again, his hands shook slightly while he retrieved the white box on the couch behind him, titling the top to pull out any antiseptic and bandages they had inside.

With a rag from the bathroom and a bottle of peroxide he sat at the edge of the bed and began dabbing at the wounds he found- starting with the circular burn. It was healing, he could tell, in three days since its creation, it had stopped swelling; the scabbing seemed to shrink as time went by, the circumference lessening every day. After all, it took Matthew's body the same amount of time to heal three broken fingers.

The lacerations on the chest, however, were still new, looking fresh- a bright red and brown against the white skin. They no longer seeped with blood but any form of moment would easily break the tear's fragile sealing.

It was difficult for Ivan to keep himself under control while looking everything over- he was constantly warring with himself; he wanted to break something- he needed a release, and yet, he forced his hand to stay gentle. He was so… afraid of making any more marks upon the Canadian.

He almost slipped upon reaching the end- from top to bottom, he cleansed every injury, holding himself in check as he took in the deep cuts, some parts more jagged than others- those were not done with anything smooth and sharp, but with a _serrated_ knife- the teeth of that weapon didn't cut, but _tore_.

All those designs, all the pain Matthew had endured- and Ivan's vision once more turned red at the smallest of marks; the crude _signature_ to the right of the navel.

_Dmitri Mihailov_

In fancy lettering, as if it were a brand- as if he owned the body he had vandalized.

Ivan wanted it gone, to the point where he considered taking a knife to the skin himself, to cut away that disgusting man's name, as if it did not exist. Perhaps he could burn the name away with a hot poker.

People of the past used to do such things to the rulers they hated; the greatest disgrace of all was for the leaders' names to be expelled from all written logs- scratched out as if he had never lived. Statues were defaced… A man without a name was nothing at all.

Those chaotic thoughts didn't last long, even as strong as they were, Ivan knew he couldn't bring himself to inflicted more pain. Instead, he firmly took a wrapping of gauze and covered that marking first, starting at the abdomen and working his way up. Gently lifting the back with one arm to twist the bandaging around the torso, Ivan covered every inch, making sure the wrappings weren't too tight or loose.

Another taped bandage covered the cheek and all the open wounds had been cared for. The only thing left was to warm the body and watch over him. The entire time, Ivan found nothing on the boy that would cause death; the wounds weren't fatal and he hadn't seen anything unusual about him.

His mind wandered to Kumajirou's predicament and he really didn't know whether to be relieved or even more concerned about the possibility that Kumajirou's death, in turn, _killed_ Matthew. He didn't know if Belarus and the bear escaped that fire, or if the animal's wounds were so severe. Nothing could be done about Ivan's theory though. The only thing he could do now was wait and hope for a change.

Collecting the heated water bottles, Ivan set about snuggling them in close to the boy's body, one underneath the neck, one under each arm, and the other between the thighs. Hopefully this would give the Canadian the heat needed.

He pulled the rest of the quilts over the boy, adding on the extra blankets the woman had given them; he tucked them around the Canadian's form to keep the heat within. With a sigh, he pulled away to sit on the couch, leaning on the side of it wearily, holding his head up with a fist and simply… staring. As if he were awaiting the heartbeat.

All he heard was a silence, and he hated it. Strange, for he usually found solace in the lack of noise; now, without even the sounds of breathing from anyone but him, the quiet seemed to close in on him. The darkness of the room seemed to add a disturbing quality to the silence as well- Ivan hadn't bothered to turn on the lights; he could see well enough.

His body suddenly seemed so heavy- a crash from all the adrenalin, the effect of the warmth from the heater. He was so tired, but he forced himself to watch over the blond as long as he could, finally conceding to the voice of sleep just as the sun rose in the eastern sky.

…oOo…

It was a feeling Matthew had only experienced a few times throughout his unnaturally long life- waking up after death. Sometimes, these "awakenings" were full of instant pain- for he had died from horrific wounds that had not completely healed as his heart recovered enough to continue beating. In many ways it was as if he had simply gone to sleep; awakening slowly, a moment of trying to figure out when exactly he had fallen asleep in the first place.

He hardly remembered what happened, his mind felt like a mix of mashed jelly, trying to pull itself together and understand everything- synapses in the brain sparking back to life- senses slowly coming back to him. Hearing, feeling, smelling, sight; his eyes fluttered open, the ceiling above him blurred.

Lungs struggled to take in oxygen, the intriguing feeling of those organs restarting after they had stopped for who-knew-how-long. His chest ached, inside as well as outside, as if there were two different forces pulling and pushing against the cavity.

He didn't know how long he lied there, simply allowing himself to "come back" to the world- running through everything that had happened, starting with the very basics. He was Canada. His people are fine, his government is fine- no war, no strife, his economy could be better- economy… he was helping someone with that- Russia.

Russia- Ivan Braginski.

Dmitri Mihailov.

"_-the children would be brought in, Rus was told to-"_

"_You think he cared? Eventually he did not-"_

"_-do you? After knowing this-"_

"_-still love him-"_

"_Angel…"_

A pale hand snatched hold of the covers cocooning him, feeling trapped and immobile. With great force he threw them off, lifting his back off the mattress, and looking around him wildly, searching for the monster with golden eyes. He didn't recognize where he was, maybe he had been moved again?

_Wait_, his rapid thinking paused in surprise as he realized… he was sitting up, he could _move_. He further proved this by making a fist and wiggling his toes- it was as if he had never been drugged at all!

Wide lavender eyes glanced around with more clarity- the sun shone through thick blue drapes to his left, lighting the room a dimmed gold. The heater underneath the window hummed busily, actively warming the room a nice and toasty temperature.

Coupled with the blankets that had been on top of the Canadian moments before, Matthew was beginning to think someone _cared_ about his comfort. The past few days had been spent in less than ideal conditions- now, suddenly he was in a proper bed, warm and comfortable and… he looked down at himself. Well, he was still naked, but his wounds were dressed- very strange indeed.

_What happened?_

Continuing his observations, he turned his head to the right. A glimpse of white caught his eye, naught but five feet away, and mauve eyes latched on, surprise clear on his face as recognition clicked inside his mind.

He _knew_ that hair- that face; the strong jaw, slightly large nose, thin lips- everything from the way his bangs swept across his forehead to the frown on his mouth.

The slumped form of Ivan Braginski; slack against the couch he sat in, left hand keeping his head straight.

_Ivan_…

The sight of him brought tears to Matthew's eyes and he slid over the mattress, placing his feet on the ugly blue carpet. He pulled one of the light fleece blankets over his bottom half, not quite so delirious as to walk around so exposed. Part of him was still wondering if this was real- did Ivan really save him, or was this a trick of Dmitri's doing in some sick and demented way of bringing him a new form of torture?

His legs shook when he tried to stand, and he almost fell, arms snapping out to stabilize him with the bedside table, wincing at the pins and needles racing down to the ends of his toes and the noise the furniture made as it bumped into the wall behind it. The lamp on top dangerously shook with the sudden shake of its surface and Matthew squeaked as it tipped, a loud racket following its descent.

Ivan jumped- red tinted eyes suddenly glaring, the entire form tensed and ready to fight. The instant reaction would have scared Matthew had he not been awkwardly falling on his face at the man's feet.

"M-Matvey," a disbelieving voice was heard, hard with something Matthew identified as anger (he didn't think the Russian would have been _frightened_ upon waking to such noises- thinking the enemy had found them, and ready to kill anything that so much as moved to protect the Canadian).

His throat was dry and his voice cracked from disuse, but Matthew looked up from his kneeling position with a small smile- hearing his name called- not _Angel_, but a normal, friendly nickname. "D-Désolé, I thought I could s-stand," he whispered in that quiet voice of his. He was embarrassed, and he really didn't _mean_ to wake the Russian so abruptly. The last thing he wanted was for the man to be angry with him after seeing him again.

Red-violet eyes looked down at his form with something Matthew couldn't decipher, but the man eventually leaned forward, careful of the wrapped chest, his arms wrapped around the blonde's torso, lifting the Canadian with surprisingly gentle hands.

Matthew's own hands instinctively settled on the broad shoulders to keep balance, and a part of him was slightly shocked to find the Russian was tangible underneath his fingertips.

Ivan really was _here_, carefully picking him up from the floor and setting him back on the bed with a softness Matthew hadn't seen him exert before.

Canada didn't know what he had expected when he saw Ivan after all this mess was settled. A big piece of him believed Russia would show anger; at his weakness for getting caught in the first place, for the trouble he went through to get him back, for the repercussions such an event could have on his Nation…

Instead, Russia's face seemed eerily vulnerable- there wasn't much expression, the beginnings of a frown on his face the only outward indication of his feelings. No, it was the eyes that seemed so different from what Matthew remembered- he could tell, from looking into those dark violets, that Ivan was not angry. The emotions so bare before him were something Matthew could not name, but they sparked a bubbly warmth inside his chest.

Matthew watched the Russian's every movement with a kind of awe; that nice feeling within him spreading through his core at the way Ivan was being so considerate. He had saved him, bandaged him, and even now, he was so careful to cause him no more pain.

Ivan's gaze was trained on him so intently- it was a focus Matthew didn't receive often, but right now, he was proud and so very happy to have the man's attention, as if he were the center of all the Russian's thoughts. Ivan _cared_- and that alone would have turned Matthew's world upside-down.

But it was so much more than that…

The Canadian's hands tightened around the black T-shirt Ivan wore, the fabric bunching in his hands; he wanted the Russian near him, and Ivan did not move away. The hands that had lifted him remained against his skin, separated only by the thin gauze wrappings. They were cold against his heated body but Matthew did not mind in the least. His focus remained on the violet eyes in front of him, thoughts running through his head at lightning speeds, and yet, the only one that was voiced was, "You… didn't leave me."

A small frown at the man's lips, "I didn't," he agreed.

"You could have," Matthew whispered.

"I didn't," he repeated.

Their eyes remained locked, a world of emotions passing between them, many of which could not be defined, and their mere existence meant too much for them to accept for the moment. They couldn't break away. They didn't want to; their presence relaxed each other- Matthew's magic of soothing the Russian's nerves and the way Canada felt _safe_ with Ivan right next to him.

Without a bit of hesitance or thought Matthew sprung forward, wrapping his arms around the man's neck and burying his face into the juncture where neck met shoulder. His form quivered, eyes burning with the tears he tried to keep at bay.

He felt the hands at his sides slip around to his back, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away- the mere fact that Ivan not only allowed the hug but _encouraged_ it- only helped those tears to escape. They rolled down his cheeks, catching on the fabrics of both his bandage and Ivan's shirt. His breathing became a bit erratic with the amount of anguish released, but otherwise, Matthew remained silent.

It was so easy to let it go; to just hold on to Ivan like a lifeline, closing his eyes and just _feeling_ the presence of the other. There was no fear- no pain. Only the warmth of Ivan's embrace; the feeling of strong hands supporting him, the spicy smell of vodka and something simply _Russia_ surrounded him. Compared to everything Matthew had thought of or feared would come to be- this was a piece of heaven.

"Thank you," his words came out as nothing but a whisper, and through his shaky breaths he wondered if Ivan heard. The large hand splayed across his back pulled the Canadian just a little bit closer. "I-I thought," Matthew's voice cracked. "I was going to be forgotten."

"Нет, I told you I would find you," the deep baritone voice of Russia answered, subdued and quiet as Matthew's form shivered against him, and he awkwardly tried to comfort the boy latched around him. His hand soothed up and down the Canadian's back in small paths following the spine; he had seen Lithuania and Ukraine do such things to the younger Nations before.

It pained him to hear the small sobs next to his ear- and while he did expect the Nation to require comfort, he didn't exactly know how to perform anything of the sort.

Before he had to think on it any longer, the Canadian pulled back, wiping his eyes and sniffling slightly. "I got your shirt w-wet. I'm sorry." Ivan was hardly bothered by that fact, but before he could admit such a thing, a sort of confused, frightened expression overcame the blond and a stunned question interrupted him. "What happened to your scarf?"

Ivan blinked. "It was burned in the fire…"

Matthew blinked. "Fire?" The bright violets grew wide. "There was a fire?"

Russia was confused… Did Matthew not remember?

"Oh, Dieu, your scarf! A-and your coat, why aren't you…" Frail hands that had been removed from their grip on Ivan to wipe away tears suddenly found purchase on the thick forearms. "You're so cold! Wha-" A perturbed look crossed Canada's face as he looked at the placement of his hand on Ivan's right bicep. The fingers slowly slid across the skin, catching on something that was surely not smooth like flesh should be.

Ivan followed his gaze, mind trying to keep up with all the hastened reactions, and still stumbling with the correct way to answer all of Matthew's questions- as well as get some of his own. His gaze met with his own mutilated arm; a result of breaking the window back in his rush to escape the burning cabin home.

Spots of deep gashes in random patterns littered his arm; a sparkle of a glass shard shined in the light- Matthew's expression when faced with such an injury would have made Ivan laugh. It hardly hurt, even though it _looked _nasty, what with the dried blood and torn flesh uncared for- he had worse injuries that bothered him even more.

Among the Canadian's frantic start of questions, Russia allowed a smile across his lips, a chuckle rumbling in his throat. "Somehow I knew, one of the first things out of your mouth, would be about _me_. Just like when you called me. I am fine, Matvey- let's focus on you, da?"

"Wha… but-"

"What do you remember?" Ivan asked. His eyes narrowed in a seriousness that told Matthew he wanted the answers now, without preamble.

Canada frowned, his gaze turning blank as the boy turned his thoughts on the past. "I was…" Trapped on the bed, obviously, and Dmitri had been reading to him passages from that horrible book. The latest journal entry had been a more sexual grievance against the personification of Russia. An unfaithful wife of the Nation's boss liked to have midnight _endeavors_- and it was not like Ivan could defy her.

The paragraph Dmitri had read was particularly detailed; Matthew had to wonder if the book really went that far…

"_I like this part, and I have to admit, I've always wanted to try it…_"

A shiver cascaded down Matthew's spine as phantom hands seemed to roam his hip and he squirmed, unconsciously pushing Ivan away from him. "Matvey?"

The Canadian didn't seem to hear his name being called…

After that statement, everything about the Russian changed- the eyes glowed in sadistic glee and anticipation. He had crawled on top of the immobile Canadian.

_Kisses trailed down the thin neck, a hot mouth latching onto the base of the column, suckling at the pale flesh before releasing with a crude slurping kind of noise. "I imagine Ivan would enjoy this, actually. Not that he was tied down, but that he got such pleasure from being ravished," the words were said against his neck, Matthew could feel the lips moving as they whispered near his ear._

_The shirt was shoved up passed his waist, violating hands pressing on the revealed flesh, fingertips digging, clipped fingernails leaving half-moon marks that didn't quite break the skin. "You would like this too, yes? You're such a slut underneath all that innocence."_

_The mouth descended, a tongue probed the top of the vertical slash that split his chest down the middle, the saliva coated appendage split the laceration wide to accommodate its size. By the time the man rose from the pale chest, his lips were coated with a liquid blood red and that offending tongue licked at them. Golden eyes seemed to glow and a deep rumble of pleasure suggested he _liked_ the iron taste._

_He bent down once more and Matthew could not see his expression, only a blur of brown hair and the sickly sensation of the kisses laid on his broken skin. They traveled down- _

"Matvey?"

"It didn't last long," Matthew murmured, as if to comfort himself with that statement, but Ivan didn't understand- red-violet eyes narrowed further in suspicion as the Canadian's arms wrapped around the bandaged torso as if to protect himself. "There was a ruckus outside…"

_A fear unlike he had felt before washed over him- he could do nothing, forced to be a victim for the despicable man over him who had succumbed to lust._

"_See?" he heard the man whisper against him. "You are a slut."_

_There were tears now- running down his cheeks in rivers, chest rising and falling in building panic. Even as he tried to steel himself for what was coming- ever since the man's beginning advances, he'd had a suspicion that rape could become a likely source of torture. _

_However, even if he'd become more certain of it after the close call earlier, he was not ready- he never would be._

"_You can think of Ivan doing this if you wish. Perhaps then, you will moan for me, da?"_

_Matthew's eyes closed, not wanting to see that condescending smirk._

_One hand smoothed over the abdomen and chest to the base of his neck, squeezing. "It seems that he is still all you can think about. Closing your eyes as if you really _are_ envisioning him," the words were growled dangerously. Matthew reopened his mauve orbs, finding the will to glare despite the tears still clinging to his lashes. _

And what if I am?

_The hand tightened, cutting off his airway. "Bitch, I'll never get you to see me, will I? Stupid- I suppose it's what I get for playing in an immortals' word, huh? Who am I to catch your eye? You think you're so above me, but it's _you_ who is about to get a good teaching on what it means to be at the bottom!"_

_A scream sounded from outside- a gunshot, a crash._

_It took a long moment for the two on the bed to realize where it came from and Matthew could thank every deity the world could ever pray too as Dmitri moved away. More gunshots proved that there was definitely something going on outside- and who else could it be to warrant such a fierce reaction from his guards?_

_Pants were hiked up, the belt buckled into place. "I think it's time to go," he stated in an indifferent tone- as if he were not still sporting a hard-on clearly seen straining against his pants. The bedside drawer was opened, and Matthew watched as an old, antique looking kind of gun fit in the Russian's hand. _

_A hand threaded through the golden hair tenderly. "All I need is my book- it's all I ever needed." That hand untangled from the fine tresses, gripping around the old leather bound journal, pulling it close to his chest._

"_Be sure to spend as much time with Ivan as you can," he murmured uncaringly. "That devil will soon come crashing down."_

_The door to the bedroom was opened with a casual flare, despite the amount of noise coming from the living room just down the hall. Matthew could see the Russian pause a step outside, staring at something with a blank expression. The gun lifted…_

"Dmitri left the room- I saw him with the gun… I suddenly felt a spark of pain. It was so quick and… I don't know where it came from- I know he didn't shoot _me_ but I don't understand _why_ it hurt so much and then… I think my heart just s-stopped."

"Kumajirou," Russia answered. Canada's eyes snapped back into focus, looking to him with a haunted expression Ivan did not like. "Belarus and Kumajirou were waiting for us to arrive. They were watching the house for the guards and equipment- but Natalia said that Kumajirou suddenly took off, like it was urgent that they save you _now_. He went in there all on his own; somehow starting a fire… he was probably killed in the process."

"K-Kumajirou…"

He looked on the verge of panic, and Ivan stooped in closer, "Matvey, he's fine- he must be if you're doing so well too-"

"You don't know that! Kumaji- he's never _died_ before- not that I remember- what if- what if he leaves me? What if he's truly gone? I couldn't be alone!" Matthew's hysterics grew louder, tears once more spilling from wide lavender- dark with pain and consumed with panic. "I can't be alone!"

The emotional outbreak was something Ivan was not prepared for- he had no idea on how to calm the boy. However, Ivan did know this; he understood the fear of being alone very well. "You're not Matvey! I am here, da?"

"N-non."

"Da- you remember what you said to me after the hockey game? I was always alone in that big house of mine. You said… Do you remember?"

"Non, w-what did I say?" the boy asked, his sentence interrupted by hiccups.

"You have full rights to ask me to stay- because I am your ally- no, a friend. I am your friend, and I will stay with you. Da? I will never leave."

"You don't have t-to be my friend…"

"Да ерунда," the Russian grumbled. His arms came around the thin Canadian, pulling him closer, and the boy once more held on to him like he was the only thing keeping him from drowning. "You're the only friend I have, da? You did not give up on me like the others, you were not afraid. You didn't leave."

"B-but that-"

"Matvey," he interrupted, his tone just a little rougher. "Поверь мне. I will not leave you- I didn't, and I won't."

Matthew's grip on his shirt pulled him closer, face hidden in the burrow of Ivan's scarred neck, and that, for the moment, didn't bother him.

The sobs slowed into gasps, the violent shaking reduced to small shivers and soon there was a comfortable silence between them. "Ivan," Matthew whispered, his voice hoarse. "I do trust you."

Those words were definitely something Ivan did not hear often- in fact; he couldn't remember ever hearing them at all. Nobody ever _trusted _him, even allied with him. He was unsure if his _sisters_ trusted him. However, Matthew had said it- so sincerely and softly that… Ivan believed it.

It gave him a chill, and yet warmed his chest. Somebody trusted him- he warred with himself on whether that trust was put in good faith. Did he _deserve_ that trust? Would he uphold it? Or would the monster inside of him shred it to pieces, _knowing_ it had something to break?

"You are not angry with me?" Ivan asked quietly- blond hair moved with his words as close as they were and Ivan could smell a sweet shampoo on the tresses- it was not the same as he remembered. That unconscious thought actually made him pause- somebody bathed the Canadian. Of course, in the pictures he'd seen, Canada was covered in grime, but now… he was strangely clean.

The way Matthew shuddered- the arms that wrapped around himself for comfort. Dmitri had spoken of how _appealing_ the Canadian looked and he was under the impression they were together…

A sickening picture was beginning to form in his mind…

"Why would I be angry with you?"

Ivan's eyes closed, as if shutting out the new images he'd come up with; he never thought about the hidden injuries Matthew might be sporting. A familiar bubbling rage rose in his chest. "I couldn't stop this from happening," he replied around clenched teeth. "I should have known about Dmitri or-"

"As long as you're not mad at me being completely pathetic enough to be used as the object of extortion, I promise I'm not angry at you."

"Of course not." After all, that was hardly _his _fault!

"Then we're even." Canada shifted on the edge of the bed, pulling the fleece blanket around him to cover him more. "You can sit down you know…" Russia awkwardly turned to settle on the bed beside him, one arm still around the Canadian's shoulder; the boy's face remained hidden in his neck. "I'll get you a new scarf if you want- it won't be the same, I know, but I _can _knit, and if I get the right material-"

"It was not the original scarf that got burned, Matvey," Ivan assured. "It was a fake but… perhaps, one day; you can make me one anyway? I would really like that." He ended in a hopeful whisper.

He felt a soft smile against the scarring of his neck, and Matthew gave a little laugh. "Okay."

Ivan smiled in return, though Matthew couldn't see it. "You should rest," he said. "I have clothes, you can get dressed first, and soup- it may be cold now, but you probably have not eaten."

Matthew pulled away slowly, as if hesitant to let anyone see the slightly bloodshot eyes and tear-stained face, but he smiled at Ivan, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on the man's cheek, much to Ivan's surprise. "Je ne sais pas comment vous remercier."

…Thank You…

To make up for the completely evil cliffhanger last chapter- HAVE SOME FLUFF!

Choke on it.

XD Jk, please don't, you all have to live and tell me if I went too far with the sobbing and the general care Russia was showing. I thought it was way over-due and I don't think I pushed them too far too soon but… what do you guys think? Ha ha.

By the way, you people got scary! Kumajirou has so many fans ready to defend him! So cute. :3

_Translations_:

Прости меня (Russian): Forgive me

Да ерунда (Russian): It's nothing

Поверь мне (Russian): Trust me

Je ne sais pas comment vous remercier (French): I don't know how to thank you.

_Disclaimer_: Thanks to copy-right infringement, I cannot say I own this… I will instead beg Hidekazu Himaruya for some smex in the original. HEAR THAT? I'm watchin' you.


	32. желтый: Yellow

Chapter 32: желтый: Yellow

"The second time," came a muttered snarl. "Second time I've been shot for you- for that _kid_. What the fuck, huh?"

"Shut up, Alec. Petri, go faster."

"I am going as fast as I dare, sir-"

"Go faster-"

"Don't tell me to shut up, damn it, it fuckin' hurts, and I'm tired of this shit. I have a hole clean through my shoulder!"

"Pity it didn't hit your head," Dmitri snapped back.

"Pity it didn't hit _you_!" A frustrated groan escaped between clenched teeth. "All this for nothing," Alec grumbled, leaning forward in the small bucket seat of the helicopter. It was uncomfortable as all hell and it was only made worse seeing as every bit of turbulence sent sparks of white-hot pain down his entire right side. He couldn't lean back _into_ the seat- he made the mistake of letting his shoulder come into contact with the backing of the hard metal-plastic alloy once; he'd never do it again.

"It wasn't for nothing," were the words Dmitri replied with from his seat in the front passenger side of the EC120 helicopter.

Alec contemplated kicking the backrest in front of him rather viciously- hopefully send the bastard toppling out of the aircraft- but the throbbing in his shoulder reminded him that moving was a bad idea. Still, he let out a sarcastic laugh. "Uh, sorry to burst your little indifferent, happy-as-a-kid-on-crack bubble here, but _yes_, we indeed did all this for nothing. Where's your little boy-toy? Oh, yeah, back in the _pile of ashes that was your 'safe house'_. What the hell do you propose you'll use as leverage now, huh?"

"That boy wasn't so _necessary_- I can achieve my goals without him. I just wanted Ivan to suffer a bit-"

"You didn't need him," Alec repeated. "Again, we did all this for _nothing_."

"No… _You_ did all this for nothing," Dmitri laughed. "You were the one that got shot. I just lost a vacation home and most of my guards. What are they but pawns? It was certainly worth the loss to see Ivan so distraught."

"I hate you. Go die in a ditch."

"You first," the man chirped.

Alec's foot slammed squarely into the plastic backing of Dmitri's seat. Sadly, the construction of a helicopter was slightly more stable than to rattle over a simple kick- the thing didn't budge. Dmitri did turn around to give him a _look_, as if he were amused at the attempt, and Alec showed him the middle finger, not exactly confident in being able to talk smoothly around the flashes of pain in his shoulder.

Golden eyes rolled in dismay. "Petri," he asked the pilot. "Don't these helicopters come with first aid kits?"

"Behind Mr. Alec's chair I believe…"

"Fantastic- he can stop bleeding all over my interior."

…oOo…

It was awkward, and yet kind of funny- Matthew had to let out a few laughs as Ivan pulled up the Canadian's pants. They found that his legs were going to take some more time to adjust- both from his deathly experience and from disuse (on account of being drugged for about a week). His legs just couldn't hold his weight yet, his hand-eye coordination seemed slow and the pain that crossed Matthew's face every time he tried to stand only gave Ivan more reason to convince Canada he needed to rest more.

However, they _were_ making a speedy recovery and Matthew was obviously determined to keep moving, as if ready to make up for the immobile state he'd been in. Ivan had to force the boy back on the bed to help him get dressed- distracting him with the explained steps they had taken to rescue Matthew- with many interruptions from the Canadian throughout.

"Wait… Alfred? What was Alfred doing there? He _knew_?"

"Da," Ivan replied, a smirk on his lips. "America, as well as Germany, Prussia, France, England, an-"

Canada's eyes were widening with every name added to the list. "H-how did they know? I can't imagine they _felt_ it- they practically ignore me-" he cut himself off, suddenly looking ashamed at his own statement. He didn't mean to sound bitter… " I mean, well, what clued them in to the fact that I was gone?"

"They were looking for you," Ivan answered. He sat on the bed beside the blond, watching the way those violet eyes swirled with emotions- worry, skepticism, hope, warmth. "It started with Kumajirou, da? He went crazy after you were taken- he tried to get America to help, but he didn't understand at first. Eventually your family started to become suspicious though, and Prussia too- they searched for you."

"But… _why_?"

A frown crossed Ivan's mouth- for someone who wanted to believe his family cared for him so blindly, he sure questioned it rather harshly when faced with what he wanted to hear. With a slight glare directed to the carpet, Ivan growled in an affronted tone, "They found out you were staying with me and they did not like it."

Canada remained silent, the expression on his face thoughtful, but eventually those amethyst eyes turned to connect with Ivan's profile, observing the dark look and the tight jaw. "I'm sorry. They just didn't understand, Ivan. I'll talk to them about it-"

"Don't bother," Russia grumbled, slightly surprised to hear the way Matthew instantly came to defend him- it was heartening, but it came with bitterness. "They won't believe it- no matter what I do; my image will not change in their eyes."

"You changed in mine." Such a definite answer, as if it were obvious or a pure fact that couldn't be questioned.

Ivan's lips parted for a come-back, but he realized he didn't know _what_ to say to that and the gaping fish-look made Canada chuckle. A pale hand reached up, placing a reassuring weight on the man's right shoulder, giving him a little push, just to be playful. "I told you, you're better than you think. You just try and be all bad-ass and that scares people away, eh? You have such a thick defensive barrier." A bright smile, "It's definitely worth the effort to see you as you really are."

Ivan remained deathly silent, his slightly wide eyes staring as Matthew mumbled something about his arm, reaching for the first aid kit on the bedside table. Those words kept replaying in his mind as he tried to understand them.

Sure, he had some tough walls around him- if the threat of his past didn't scare people away, his menacing personality and sadistic nature would. However, he failed to realize just when he stopped being the cold and unforgiving monster to Matthew- since when did he allow himself to relax around the boy?

Did it happen sometime in the kidnapping, or was this sense of trust between them there even before? He didn't know, but Matthew's words struck him.

That this side of him was _acceptable_ and enjoyable to be around... He never thought of his company as something others would _want_.

"Maybe you should just take a shower, eh? "

Ivan turned with a blank look, brain still running in circles and making him so very confused on how the topic of conversation could go from how Matthew enjoyed being around him, to him taking a bath.

"You have soot and blood all over you. It'll help clean the wounds," he said with a small smile. "That way I can put clean bandages on and not worry about them getting dirty."

Ivan wanted to say no. He could feel the layer of grime covering him, and a shower would be nice, but that would involve leaving the room- and Matthew. He could wait until they regrouped with the others, then he could have some reprieve knowing someone else could protect him while he was away.

"That woman you told me about even brought clothes that would fit you, see?" Matthew pointed at the pile of jeans similar to his and a dark green sweater. A red flannel shirt hung over his own frame, a size too big but comfortable.

"Matvey, I think-"

"Ivan," the Canadian said; just his name- short, punctuated, and flat. "I'm not a baby. I think I can watch over myself for a few minutes. Go."

A quiet groan of frustration (which Matthew _did_ hear and that slight smirk on his face only let Ivan know how much he was enjoying this). Russia sent a glare to the blond, though it wasn't as intimidating or angry as he could have made it. "You're telling me what to do again. I don't like it."

"I don't care," he replied in the same tone, with that snarky smirk still in place, but his next sentence was said in a softer voice. "You've taken care of me; I'm fine, so go get clean so I can return the favor, okay? Please?"

With a huff, Russia stood, making a journey around the room and checking every door and window again, to make sure they were still locked, then giving Matthew the rifle with express orders to shoot anything that moved until he returned.

Canada took all this in with a smile, touched at the over-protective actions Ivan showed and happily informing Russia (again) that a shower could take no longer than ten minutes (unless you were France). He could hold out for that much at least.

Ivan huffed lightly, a big hand tapping the top of the Canadian's head with a soft, almost affectionate air. "If I find you off that bed when I get back, I'll strap you down, da?"

Matthew grinned. "I'm quicker than that- you'll never know."

The hand's soft touched turned just a bit more vicious, ruffling the blond hair into a big mess, chuckling with that 'kol kol' sound as Canada squirmed, hands pushing the man's offending arm away. "Non, leave my hair alone!"

"What did you say, little Matvey?"

"Mon Dieu, I'll stay on the bed- it's not like I can walk right yet anyway." Ivan's treatment of his hair stopped, but Canada kept grumbling. "Always the hair- it's sensitive, you know. I really don't see why everyone likes it, I don't spend any time on it like France, it's always curly, like, this one stupid curl that won't stay out of my face an-"

Ivan pulled on said curl, stopping Matthew's speech almost instantaneously and it was rather curious when those pale cheeks turned rosy with a flush afterwards. "I like your hair," Ivan stated. Though he felt slightly ridiculous admitting something like that aloud, he smiled and elaborated, "A pretty gold, and very soft, da? Like sunflowers or wheat fields."

Canada's blush seemed to spread. "It doesn't seem that special," he whispered. A smile crossed his lips, though, and he moved, almost like a cat, in a way that Ivan's hand would come into more contact with the blond strands. "Thank you."

Russia's heart beat just a bit faster and his breaths turned shallow. The atmosphere around them changed slightly- less of a simple playful air into something more meaningful, more intimate. They were close, he realized, and the hand tangled in gold threaded through the strands carefully. He had done such a thing subconsciously, but he didn't want to halt a guilty pleasure, especially when Matthew seemed to lean into it.

His chest warmed, his eyes remained so enthralled with everything in front of him; the feeling of soft hair running through his fingers, the pure violet that looked so open and trusting. The pink on the boy's cheeks- the pink of his lips…

_You're beautiful_.

Russia's throat constricted, the words he found were so easily available, but couldn't be admitted. How much he had wanted to say that- how much he wanted to tell Matthew…

_Beautiful doesn't come close- you're gorgeous, alluring, stunning, ravishing- you've bewitched me. _

He couldn't say that. Not yet.

His hand retreated, slowly, softly, letting loose the gold strands and falling to his side uselessly. Canada's eyes followed, that light of otherworldly emotion swirling within.

Ivan blinked, forcing himself out of this trance he found himself in, lost as he was in observing everything Canada before him. "Ah, shower… Da."

He turned stiffly, gathering together the pile of clothes and marching purposefully around the bed to the bathroom door. "I won't be long."

"Okay," Matthew chirped- that kind smile on his face.

The door shut.

Matthew's smile slowly dropped.

…oOo…

"Miss Ukraine, what does _mewlway_ mean?" Italy asked. He turned his whole body around to look into the kitchen over the bar, arms crossed on the backing of the sofa he kneeled on. "Miss Ukraine!"

The woman in question giggled at the bubbly, impatient tone. Italy and their new guest, Vera Lebedeva had been cheerily trying to communicate despite the fact that they spoke different languages. They played music and danced together, used the big screen television to play video games and went through a whole sketchbook just drawing different random pictures for each other- it was adorable to see the two get along so well.

Katyusha placed a lid on the pot she had over the stove, returning to the living room afterwards, laughing some more at the way Italy bounced on the couch. "It means _cute_."

Feliciano gasped. "I'm cute!"

Vera giggled, leaning over to hug the Italian in a friendly manner, like one would hug an adorable bunny rabbit, nuzzling the soft brown locks of hair and squealing. "милый!"

Italy returned her embrace with just as much enthusiasm. "Carino!"

Katyusha couldn't help it, she ran to the two and joined in the hug- giggling at the absurdity. It was nice to act so freely; she was so used to being around her stern siblings. There were not many hugs to go around in her family. The fact that Feliciano and Vera both squealed and happily opened their arms to include her only gave her more reason to love this kind of atmosphere.

"Viktor must join to!"

The man gave a nervous chuckle. "No thank you, I am fine here."

Vera pulled away from the two Nations she had been hugging fiercely, jumping across the sofa to practically bowl over the retired cop with her giggly embrace. Viktor protested very loudly, Vera laughed, squeezing tighter, Italy ran to join, "More hugs, ve!"

Once the ruckus calmed, they were right back to a seemingly unbearable silence though.

"Ve, what do we do now?"

Ukraine looked around; pictures Italy and Vera had drawn were strewn about the coffee table, amongst glasses of orange juice from their breakfast. Game controllers were left desolate and lonely on the floor, surrounded by game boxes. The television screen was paused on some kind of racing game they had been playing, the _Resume_ button glowing hopefully as it had been for the last hour.

"Well… we could clean."

Feliciano's eyes widened, "Oh! Ve, Mr. Russia won't be happy if he came home to this- Germany told me not to make any messes too! I'll clean it up!"

Katyusha giggled. "We'll help, of course!"

That shaved off another hour- they went on to do laundry and made a light lunch for everyone; vacuuming, mopping, dusting… another hour was spent on the study room.

Completely demolished, there were many pieces of broken furniture and ripped books that simply had to be thrown away as they were unsalvageable.

The explanation of how such destruction occurred was not exactly truthful when Vera asked for it, and between Italy's nervous fidgeting, and Ukraine's near-tears expression, the poor girl probably realized. In fact, the two Nations and ex-KGB agent had to be extra careful not to call each other by any name related to the Country they represented- something they had failed to do a few times already.

Vera was a smart girl, she must have noticed- and yet, perhaps the best sign of her intelligence came with silence. For the time being it seemed like she was to be trusted with their secret- Ivan ordered her to stay here; what she found out in her stay was not something they could control.

"What else…"

Vera flopped down onto the couch. "_There is nothing else, the house is spotless. I hadn't cleaned so much in ages. Let's go out-_"

Katyusha shook her head sympathetically. "_Ivan told us to stay here. This is where we are safe._"

Viktor nodded. "How about we watch a movie?"

"Ve, that's boring," Italy whined. "Can't we at least go to the yard and have a snowball fight?"

Katyusha lower lip trembled. "I-I'm sorry Italy but brother said…"

"Yes," Viktor supported, seeing her stress. "We must stay inside. It's nice and warm in here, and we have the cookies you all baked- I'm sure they are cool by now."

Amplifying her boredom with a long suffering sigh, Vera leaned over to snatch the television remote from the coffee table. Feliciano pouted slightly from his seat at her feet on the other end of the couch.

"I wonder what fratello is doing, ve. Probably having fun with Spain, outside, in a big tomato garden where it's warm. I wish Doitsu would come back soon- or maybe if Kiku were here…"

Ukraine's vision got blurry. "I'm sorry it's so boring here!" she cried.

Everyone jumped at her sudden cry and Italy stuttered slightly. "No! I mean-"

"I'm such a horrible host!"

"No, no, no, such a pretty girl should not cry! I'm not bored at all, ve!"

"_It's not your fault._"

"Miss Katyusha, please, everything is alright, no need to cry."

Feliciano started to cry with her and Vera was left to stare blankly as Viktor tried to console them both before throwing his hands in the air and flopping back into the armchair with abandon. "You two are nations… centuries old. Please, act like it, da?"

Katyusha looked at him with watery eyes. "Oh! What must you think of my nation to see me like this? I'm sorry! I don't mean to be a crybaby!"

"Ve, me either! Italy is a great place; it doesn't matter if I cry all the time! That's what Germany says, ve!"

A dry chuckle, "Of course…"

Before anybody could say any more, a loud bell rang through the foyer.

Katyusha sniffled, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt. "Who could that be?"

Viktor stood, huffing as his back popped. "I'll answer it, stay here."

He had the sense to peek out the side windows before turning off the security alarm Ivan had entrusted him with. There were three people on the snowy white steps, huddled up in their huge coats that hid their forms. Viktor hated the fact that he couldn't properly see their faces behind hoods or scarves, and any kind of weaponry could be hidden in those large jackets.

For a moment he debated on whether or not to answer the door- they could pretend the house was empty and hopefully the visitors would leave. That would solve many things indeed and it would save him the grief of any explanations to send the people away in the first place. They could not come in-

The form in the front knocked on the large wooden door. "Ivan!" The muffled voice hardly carried past the solid oak. "_It's Vladimir. We need to talk_."

Viktor blinked in surprise. He recognized that voice and the name associated with it soothed his nerves slightly. His left hand still crossed behind him, palm resting on the butt of the sig Gilbert had given him the day they checked out Dmitri's house. His other hand swiftly unlocked the door, pulling it open just enough to peek through.

"_Ivan Braginski is not here_," he said. "_I can leave a message if you'd like, sir_."

Vladimir Kolokoltsev, Chief of Police in Moscow, made a startled noise. "_Kozlov, is that you? What are you doing here?"_

"_Ah, Ivan needed me for something. I could not refuse. He should be back by the end of the week,_" Maybe… _"So I can give him a message if it's important."_

Vladimir paused, a look of uncertainty crossing his face, he shared a glance with one of the people behind him. "_Viktor… while this _is_ very important, I'm afraid I must talk to him only. The details are… confidential._" 

That confused Viktor; not to be biased, but local cops, even the chief of police, usually did not handle 'confidential' subjects. That was left to the KGB and more specialized lawmen; however, the cooperation between the different branches often led to blurred cases in which both sides contributed to solving. It is why Viktor and Vladimir knew each other closely.

"_I am sure_ _whatever it is_ _can be relayed to me; Ivan entrusted me to handle all business in his absence for the time being_." Right down to babysitting two Nations- who had major mood-swings, by the way.

Vladimir still seemed unsure and his big form took a small step back. His face told that he would just have to wait- perhaps he would come back tomorrow, but his retreat was halted by one of the two men behind him. The one on the right stepped forward, thick hood falling around his shoulders to reveal blond hair and brown eyes.

"_Is it true that Ivan Braginski is an immortal representation of an actual _Country?_"_

Absolute silence- Viktor could only gap in astonishment at such a loud proclamation. "W-what?"

…oOo…

A shiver raced down his spine and his mauve eyes lowered to the carpet. He wished he could take a shower as well, with as dirty as he felt, he would like nothing more than to scrub a layer of skin off his body- wherever that man's hands touched, wherever his _mouth_ kissed.

Yet, it seemed like a dream sometimes. Ever since he woke up to this small hotel room- Ivan watching over him not but five feet away- everything could be forgotten. His mind kept telling him everything was over, the mere fact that Ivan was here made everything better. Russia would not let Dmitri anywhere near him- the fierce, protective attitude Ivan had been showing made him feel safe, even if a part of him huffed at sounding like a damsel in distress.

He could rely on Ivan- he had been this entire time. Even after the phone call in which he begged the man to stop trying to rescue him; there was a large part of him that wished Ivan to continue. There were so few people he confidently knew would never give up on him, even when given no responsibility.

His family, for one, when they remembered him, Gilbert and Katyusha… and now Ivan.

The same Ivan who had held him so tightly as he cried, the one who smiled and consoled him, even if it was something the man was not comfortable with- the one who had brushed his fingers through his hair not five minutes ago, looking at Matthew as if he were a treasure.

Warm and gentle, with all the might of a world power beneath that skin.

_He looked about to kiss me, _Matthew wondered, though his mind instantly doubted such an observation and the other part of him seemed disheartened by that negativity. He… really wouldn't mind.

And yet his face heated up at the mere thought, like a virgin school girl, and he scoffed. "I am not a virgin!" he growled. "Even if he _thinks_ so- just because I haven't done it with a _nation_. Jerk."

What was the difference anyway?

Well, for one… if it was _Russia_-

Oh, mon Dieu, don't even go there!

He needed to do something more productive while the Russia was out of the room. There were a few things he needed to check- things that had been bothering him since his kidnapping.

He shifted slightly to get a look at both nightstands to either side of the bed. A sharp pain in his backside was ignored as his eyes landed on the corded phone sitting innocently on the nightstand closest to the bathroom door.

The sound of running water echoed in the background and Canada leaned across the mattress to snatch the receiver from its cradle. He keyed in the number he had memorized, waiting impatiently for the connection. It took a long time - they were out in the middle of nowhere, weren't they?

The ringing was annoying- long shrill bells followed by long pauses- _how long did it take someone to answer their damn phone?_

The ring cut off, a dulled _bump_ following, and Matthew was speaking before a single greeting was exchanged. "Is everything okay?"

"Excuse me?"

Canada cleared his throat so as to not sound so panicked. "Harper, it's me, Matthew. Tell me; has anything changed?"

"Has what changed?"

"Anything." Matthew emphasized. "Did something with the country worsen? Any sudden accident- unforeseen natural disasters?"

"…No," the Canadian Prime Minister stated. His tone was sharp, aggravated perhaps, but in the next moment a quiet urgent voice replied. "Everything is the same, nothing bad has happened so far- at least, no more than we've already predicted. Why are you asking this, Canada? What's going on?"

"I-I just needed to know," the blond stated, his chest aching. He fell onto his side, curling around a pillow, still holding the phone to his ear. "I needed to know if anything was affected."

"What is that supposed to mean? Matthew, explain."

"Not now," Canada replied. "I'll talk to you later. By the way, don't call my cell phone. I've lost it."

He reached over to return the corded device to its base, sighing in a kind of relief. Nothing of _Canada_ had changed. Their momentary death (Matthew and Kumajirou) was purely superficial, nothing brought on by their represented lands or people- which is probably why they recovered so quickly.

Had he achieved these wounds from a direct source involving his country, the process of 'returning' most likely would have taken much longer. Matthew could feel the ever present strength inside of him- the will of his people, the might of his military- no drug or wound could dull those senses, they were there throughout his capture.

Nothing but actual war or strife against his Nation could take away that life-force. The only thing keeping him awake (or alive at all) was his connection to his land. He knew it had to be the same for Kumajirou (who he desperately hoped was alive and well) – the bear may be alive, but his recovery would take longer.

A hand came up to his chest where a phantom ache resided, different from the current lacerations wrapped in gauze. It was difficult to breathe for some reason and he sympathized with his best friend who seemed to be the source of such pain, amplified by a large scale.

He was thankful his connection to his land kept them alive at least.

Matthew Williams however, had certainly died.

His hand was held up, palm out, fingers apart, so that Matthew could see the physical part of him that _was not_ him. Strange way to put it, but the only way to explain it. This hand was not Matthew's- it was Canada's- fueled by the people and made physical by the pieces of his land connected to a living spirit.

Violet eyes closed, allowing the arm to fall back to the mattress.

He hurt- even if there was a certain detachment of his body and mind at the moment, he could still feel the wounds on his chest, the burn on his cheek, the pounding of his head and the sting of his backside. Unlike the clearly seen injuries on his front, Matthew knew there was no bandaging for the rest of him.

Slowly, Matthew turned to lay on his back, his ears listening to the rush of water in the bathroom and his hand shakily unbuttoning the jeans he wore. They were big on him, much like the red flannel shirt he wore, but he was thankful for the baggy effect both the denim and the soft cotton shorts that acted as underwear had.

He was able to reach his hand inside, past his unmentionables, lower, until his finger touched the surface of torn skin and he winced, snatching his hand back as if it burned him.

Glistening red graced his finger- warm, wet, haunting. Matthew grimaced at the sight, as if that alone caused him pain. He cursed softly, letting his head fall back on the soft blankets beneath him in frustration. His eyes heated slightly with a threat of tears- tears of hatred for the man who humiliated him so. Dmitri Mihailov.

Lifting his head up, he let it fall again, as if hitting his cranium against the mattress was a type of focusing method.

He wished it hurt more.

"Je vous hais," he repeated softly. "I wish you would die. By suffocation or drowning or maybe slowly bleed to death- by my hockey stick. Shove it up your ass for good measure."

The echo of rushing water stopped and Matthew rolled to the edge of the bed for a rag he'd seen in the first aid kit. It was already covered in dried blood, probably his own from when Russia bandaged him. He wiped his hand clean of the few spots of red and then settled his clothes back into place, sighing shakily.

He used the sleeve of his flannel shirt to dab away at any clinging tears on his eyelashes, sitting up with a hiss just in time for the bathroom door to open.

Violet eyes roamed the room from beneath damp white hair and Ivan relaxed at the lack of danger (it was almost like he _expected_ there to be some kind of enemy, Matthew noticed dryly).

"Are you okay?" Ivan asked. The Russian lifted the white towel up to rub at the back of his head, tussling the dripping strands before settling it on his shoulders and wrapping it around his neck like he would his scarf.

He wore the denim jeans, buttoned just below the navel but the green sweater was held limply in his free hand before being thrown to the couch. Why put it on when Matthew had to wrap his abdomen and its stitches first?

"Uh," Canada paused, blinking at the sight of Russia like this- a blush formed on his cheeks and he forced his eyes away, hoping Ivan didn't notice the hang up. "Yeah, you were only in there for five minutes, eh? How much trouble could I get in with such little time?"

"Lots," the man replied with a smirk. "You and Kumajirou destroyed my pillows, remember?"

Matthew chuckled nervously. "Y-you found out?"

"Da!"

"W-well… I'm not apologizing! You left me to get stabbed by Belarus!"

Ivan groaned, as if Matthew had started a long undecided argument. "She was _trying_ to _marry_ me!"

"Oh, you poor baby."

"Do _you_ want to marry her?"

"No!"

"Thought not," Russia muttered, walking around the bed to sit next to the blond. Matthew smiled, but it looked strained and Ivan frowned slightly at the boy's obvious stress. He didn't know what to do about it however. "Your wounds are bothering you. Lay back and be still."

Matthew shook his head. "I've been lying down all week. I need to move."

His arm was pulled slightly and Ivan watched the thin hands of Matthew as his forearm was splayed across his lap. Those fingers hardly wrapped around the thickness of his arm and their touch was so soft. Gently cleaning the cuts with a peroxide, plucking stray shards of glass carefully from the open wounds- Canada's expression was concentrated and kind.

Ivan watched with interest, amused and yet touched at how overly cautious Matthew was being- it wouldn't hurt him to be a little rougher- it's not like Ivan hadn't suffered through this kind of thing before.

Once it was wrapped with gauze (they were running out it seemed, what with Matthew's torso and his arm now resembling a mummy) Canada pulled at the man's arm once more. "You have to stand up. I don't know if you've noticed, but you're bleeding near your stomach."

With a chuckle, Ivan did as he was told, amused at the smallest of blushes staining the Canadian's cheeks when faced with the shirtless chest. As professional as he could be, Matthew's eyes focused intently on the abdomen (and not just the defined muscles either- contrary to rumor, Ivan was not fat- he had a toned body, but it was not obviously so).

The stitches just to the right of the navel were pulled tight to the point where the skin tore on one end. It wasn't much- it had healed over the past two days, but Matthew fretted over it all the same as he covered it up with a butterfly bandage. The fluttering touches were not commented on by either of them.

"How is your head? It looked cracked open like a melon on the telly; it scared the hell out of me."

Fingers threaded through damp white locks before Ivan could say anything and whatever he had planned in response stuck in his throat and flew from his mind. More black stitches were easily felt just above his temple and Matthew was careful, especially at the flinch that crossed Russia's face, as he brushed across their lumpy presence. They were intact, which relieved the both of them, and Matthew couldn't help but grin, "I like your hair too."

Ivan huffed.

"You're like a bear," he said quietly, with a wistful smile.

Russia chuckled. "Am I? Seeing as a bear is my national animal, I should not be surprised then."

A laugh, "Am I like a beaver?"

Violet eyes reopened, seeing that blinding smile of Matthew's lightened both their moods and the hands that were in his hair left slowly, the pads of his fingers tracing a cheek and a strong jaw line before falling to his lap.

A silence hung between them, much like the last time, and they didn't know if it was an awkward feeling or not- it seemed like everything had changed regarding them and their relationship. It seemed like they were missing something- or waiting for some cue to make another move. They just didn't know how to begin.

Before this debacle they didn't dare to get so close or show such affection- walls were up on both sides, even if they acknowledged their building closeness. Perhaps this is the way things would have turned out between them, if given the time and effort.

Matthew knew he felt different; even if he admired Russia before, it wasn't like he'd say such things so openly. However, in one week- a week in which he hadn't even _seen_ the Russian- and it was as if those stubborn formalities and silly rules of keeping their distance didn't apply anymore.

It was nice to be so comfortable around Ivan; a relaxing, affectionate atmosphere, and yet, he still wondered if he was moving too fast (what with the hugging and now clearly teasing each other in a way that could be interpreted as flirtatious). Their boundaries had shifted so far and Matthew wasn't all too clear on what was acceptable yet.

All he knew was that it felt right.

Ivan, if this gave any indication, did not complain- instead he seemed to welcome the closeness, even if he looked awkward at the same time. There was no sense of rejection from him and throughout the short two hours Matthew had been awake, he'd been nothing but gentle.

"I'm glad you're okay," he whispered.

Ivan's lips tilted up just slightly. "Da. Do not worry about me."

Canada turned his gaze, fighting down a blush. "Can I try to walk again?"

His heart skipped a beat when he felt large hands cover his own. They were rough and their hold was firm but with a comforting tenderness about them. Ivan gave the boy space to take a step, but the grip on his hands remained just in case- and it was a good thing too, because Matthew needed the support upon trying to stand.

A grimace crossed his features and Ivan forced himself to remain silent, seeing the determination in Matthew's eyes and understanding its meaning. Matthew could hold his own weight once upright, and he could even take as many as two steps before his calves began to tingle and his knees shook.

Biting his lip in frustration, Canada forced his feet to move like he was learning how to walk all over again. His legs felt like rubber, threatening to bow out from his weight as if his bones were not support enough, but it was his backside that gave him the most grief- stinging intensely and sending shocks of hot pain up his spine.

Muttered French was all that could be heard and what little Ivan understood of the language let him know it was nothing good.

Russia kept him straight with their connected hands, letting Matthew lean on him when he needed it, but neither surprised nor offended when Canada stubbornly attempted to walk on his own, refusing to be 'babied' (his words).

"It's like when your foot falls asleep. It tingles and hurts but… you force yourself to move it so the blood circulation returns and then it stops. See? It's getting better already!"

"So optimistic, da?"

"I try," he replied with a dry humor. He had taken as many steps as he could, until Ivan's back hit the wall and they had to turn around (a feat involving more footwork than Matthew thought). "Hey, we need some music, it's like we're dancing, eh?"

"Only you keep stumbling," Ivan chuckled.

"I'm a good dancer!"

"I know-"

"I am! I mean- wait, what? You _know_?"

"Da," Russia's smile grew, and it may not have been the creepy child-like smile, but it was definitely a I-know-something-you-don't-and-it's-embarrassing smile (which Matthew leered at in suspicion). "You do not remember the club we went to with Vera and her friend?"

"Of course I do…"

"Then you should remember the maple martini, and the man who basically molested you, and then the dance we had before leaving."

"… I was almost molested?"

_He is so one-track minded. _"Da."

"So you saved me then too!" Matthew exclaimed, almost groaned. "My hero."

That actually amused Russia greatly and he wished America were here to hear those words and choke on them. Matthew used their connected hands to pull Ivan closer. "Show me how we danced."

Thought process paused, rebooted, retried, and still couldn't comprehend. "You want… to dance?"

"Oui, it'll help me walk and it's fun." A red on his cheeks gave away the embarrassment of being so bold. His skin was still recovering any form of color and had he been healthy, that blush would've been brighter than it was. "Come on," he encouraged, smiling a bit. "You lead."

Russia looked around them, trying to find some kind of excuse to get out of it, but if he were truthful, he didn't try very hard. With an exaggerated sigh, he changed their positions. Deciding to go with a slow waltz, he held their joined hands to the side, freeing his other arm to wrap around the Canadian's waist.

Three steps forward (until they were stopped by the wall), turn, two steps to the right (just in front of the dresser), turn, three more steps forward (anymore and they would end up in the bathroom), turn.

"This room is way too small for this." Ivan grumbled.

Matthew just giggled, following every step Ivan took with minimum hesitation, the turns were the hardest part for him, but he was getting the hang of things. Seeing Ivan dance was amusing -it was hard to picture him doing such things- and yet, Russia was known for their dances, in ballet, on the ballroom floor, and on the ice. Despite his size and intimidating nature, he was graceful in every step he took, perfectly on beat even without music to aid him.

It was nice and Matthew felt honored to see the Russian like this, even more so to be involved as his dance partner.

"We'll call Amerika afterwards, he is probably freaking out about your whereabouts, da? He should know how Kumajirou is too."

Matthew nodded, pulling the man's shoulder to stop their next step, and as embarrassed as he was to be dancing around with a half-naked Russia, he leaned against the man's front for better balance. "I need to know Kuma is okay."

Ivan guided him to the bed, made him sit, and disappeared to get his cell phone from the pants he left in the bathroom. "He called about fifteen times," the Russian mumbled, glaring at the device in his hand, but then his expression turned to one of concern. "So did Katyusha…"

Matthew frowned. "She's okay, right?"

"Da, she's back in Moscow, she should be fine."

"Call her first, eh?" After all, Dmitri could have chosen to change his target to her once Canada was out of his grasp. America could wait another ten minutes.

Ivan nodded, sitting beside the Canadian and holding the phone to his ear as it rang. Matthew leaned closer to be able to hear the voice on the other line.

"_Ivan_," the gentle voice of Katyusha answered, her tone was high pitched and slightly panicked. Ivan's chest constricted.

"Sister, are you alright? You are still at the house, yes? Ukraine?"

A bit of a pause, and Matthew's hand wrapped around Ivan's bicep, squeezing lightly in an effort to reassure himself and comfort Ivan's rising worry. He was beginning to panic as well; mind thinking of all the ways Ukraine could be tortured in the same way he had been and desperately wishing it to be false. Canada would be willing take her place if it came to that- Katyusha did not need to be in such a position, not if he could do something about it.

"_Yes, I'm fine, Vanya_," Ivan's tense form relaxed slightly and Matthew let out a shaky sigh. _"It's just… w-well._"

"What is it, Katyusha?"

"_Reporters from every news channel in Moscow are now in the front yard. T-they've asked about you being the representation of Russia…"_

…Thank You…

Yes, it is short, I'm sorry about that, but as we start a new part I need to re-evaluate how to fit everything in to the last ten chapters. This is a bit of a fill. The next few chapters are going to get into the deep end of everything. Time to wrap things up people- In the beginning, I estimated 40 chapters… I don't know what I'm gonna do after this is over, but I'll continue writing. A sequel maybe? An 'afterwards' that will bring Matthew and Ivan closer without such stress in between. More of an intimate story- this one really is a 'beginning.'

Many new videos and pictures posted on my profile, but I admit, I'm getting forgetful- so many things are posted on the Facebook group page and the art is collected in the Deviant Art group too- I forget to post it all in my profile. That's why I encourage everyone to subscribe to those two channels. :)

I'll hopefully have an easier time writing the next chapter. This week was rough; school, work (and someone stole my USB so I had to redo homework)… yeah. I think I got most of the planning for the rest of the story done though. :D

Enjoy the read!

_Translations:_

Милый (Russian): Cute

Carino (Italian): Cute

Fratello (Italian): Brother

Je vous hais (French) : I hate you

_Disclaimer :_ I do not own! (flails)


	33. Marron: Brown

Chapter 33: Marron: Brown

"Reporters…"

Matthew's eyes widened, having heard Ukraine's statement clearly from his close distance. His hand on Ivan's arm tightened. "W-what?" he whispered in disbelief.

Ivan breathed in deeply. "Okay, Katyusha, where is Viktor?"

"_He's here. He is talking to your Chief of Police. They're trying to keep everything calm, but I don't know how long that is going to work- I," _a crackle was heard before Ukraine's voice was heard again, speaking to someone else, "_No, you cannot have my phone, you will have to wait for brother to come back before you can ask him any- no!"_

"Katyusha!" Ivan snapped. "Just give them the phone, I'll deal with it."

The Russian stood, leaving Canada to watch worriedly as he began to pace, and a few moments later he was speaking in low guttural tones; harsh Russian that sounded angry with the thick slurs and sharp accents. He hung up after a good minute, glaring at the floor and turning to pick up his shirt, throwing it on and ruffling his damp hair to get it to dry faster.

"The situation will be contained for a day at least," He grumbled, pacing angrily to the wall at the end of the bed, leaning against it with a scowl and cross his arms over his chest.

"What did you say?"

"I told them to get the fuck off my property- I'm obviously not there. If my sisters get any more grief from this I think I'll just slaughter the entire media."

Canada smiled, because it was said with such seriousness and with all the dramatic emotion flying around, it was almost nice to hear Russia make death threats again. The situation, however, was nothing to laugh about. The mere question of _why_ news reporters were stationed outside his house was deeply concerning to say the least.

Despite the memories he'd rather wish to forget, he reviewed all the conversations he'd had with Dmitri, trying to understand if the man would really go to the press with all the information he had- and then why.

"_People deserve to know about their Nation- they have the right to know you exist."_

Violet eyes closed and the blond head hung down slack against the shoulders. It wasn't like Matthew had much time to warn Ivan, nor could they do anything to stop it, but he felt responsible all the same. Now the question was; just how much information did the man divulge to the masses? With so many dark deeds and horrific tales… not only would Ivan's existence be known, but the humiliation and sins committed would doubtlessly ruin his life.

Matthew sucked in a quick breath.

That was it.

Dmitri's plan- was it really that simple? To show the world Russia's past- to make them believe their weakening in the status of things was somehow Ivan's fault?

It was crazy, and nobody could believe him without proof, but Matthew could testify to Dmitri's insanity. Should the man try- even if his plan failed, hell, even if they killed Dmitri now, the word was out- a suspicion would grow and people would wonder.

"I-Ivan," Matthew whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Russia frowned up at him, observing the bowed head and the subdued tone. "For what?"

"Everything! I couldn't do anything; he was right there, the _book_ was right there but I couldn't move and-"

"I told you I do not blame you for that, Matvey."

A flannel sleeve wiped away the clinging tears and Canada looked up with tortured eyes. "Ivan, Dmitri is going to tell. All this information; our existence- he has proof, and if he could get that to any form of news station the repercussions could be… inconceivable."

"We'll find him," Russia growled. "And I'll destroy any proof he has!"

"Do you even know where he went?"

"He has to get back to Moscow somehow- he has no way of paying for anything, we've at least slowed him down." Ivan's arms crossed in front of his chest. "Magadan is the only choice he has for transportation and if he tries to fly back, he'll be easy to find. My military has been aware of him; they're monitoring all flight communications. It's only a matter of time."

Canada nodded his head and accepted the man's explanation but that didn't exactly ease his fears- Magadan was a port city and quite large in size, finding Dmitri somewhere in all that was going to be difficult, and if they didn't hurry he would be gone for good.

"What kind of proof does he have?" Matthew tensed at the question, but Ivan had turned his slight glare to the wall as he spoke, "The videos of my fights in the bars? Sure, those could be difficult to explain, but there is no reason to believe I have anything to do with the Nation of Russia from watching those."

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Matthew fidgeted with his sleeve. "He has something else." Ivan's eyes focused on him, waiting for more… "A book- or a diary- it is a family heirloom of some kind. It talks about you, your actions, and certain past experiences that would change the courses of history should anyone know..."

Violet eyes narrowed. "Who's diary?"

"Everyone… it was written over the ages. Before the Romanovs or Tsars, about the infliction of power and the corruption-"

"How do you know this?" Ivan's voice grew sharp.

"He read it to me…" Matthew's tone suggested he was apologizing, and in a way, he felt he should; the things he heard were something private. They were secrets Ivan wouldn't want to get out and Matthew could understand why- he wished he hadn't known, or that he could go on without telling Ivan how he had violated his privacy, willingly or not. Matthew was good at keeping secrets and he wouldn't dream of relaying this kind of information to anyone.

Unfortunately, it was a bit too late to keep his mouth shut and even if he wanted to, Ivan deserved to know, especially if a person like Dmitri held the source in his hands at that very moment. What could be worse; a Nation having such knowledge, or a civilian?

A long moment of silence passed; Ivan grasping at what all of this could mean; how much Dmitri knew about him, the connections (from the fighting to the collar the Russian had sent to him), the name 'monster' and its meaning. The suspicion; _what_ exactly did the book talk about?

He had a frightening idea of its contents and it _scared_ him. Everything was suddenly so clear and yet, a part of him dearly hoped he'd remain ignorant. To know a book like that existed- to know Matthew heard of such disgusting deeds for, against, and by him. He didn't want anybody to know of such things from his past, especially not his enemies and… he hadn't wanted Matthew to know either.

Would it change Matthew's perception of him? Would the boy hate him? Pity him?

…oOo…

"What are we waiting for again?"

"Fuel," Alec hissed. "We have none. You remember that these things run on gas right?"

Dmitri sent a displeased glare towards the slumped form of Alec. They had landed their helicopter just inside the city limits of Magadan, hoping to re-fuel and get back in the air as soon as possible. Unfortunately, with the state of Dmitri's funds at the moment, anything they acquired would have to be done with credit- if anything; Mihailov could just _negotiate_ his way of paying.

However, the person who would have to _negotiate_ for him was currently curled up in one of those waiting-room kinds of chairs, cradling his right arm carefully, watching the fresh bandages on his shoulder slowly seep with red. He was definitely not in good shape and Dmitri had to huff in annoyance- trust his right hand man to get so injured when Dmitri needed him most.

At least he was still conscious enough to continue his disrespectful snarky attitude. "Of course I remember that," he snapped. "I'm just wondering what is taking so long."

"Maybe they're checking your credit score?" And then he laughed weakly, because if they did that, Dmitri would definitely not be getting any kind of deal from anyone. "Why do you want to go back to Moscow so much anyway? All that's waiting for you is a bunch of your father's old friends. I didn't think you missed them much."

"I have to get to Peter- I told him I would deliver the book as promised."

"When are you going to give me my money, as promised?" Alec asked. His hoarse voice was sharp with something like a threat. "Now that they have the kid, they won't hold back in coming after you- you're as good as dead and dying with you was not in my job description- I want my money-"

Dmitri rolled his eyes, "Shut up, you'll get it." Digging into his pocket, he retrieved something small that jingled; tossing it to the injured man slumped in the chair with finesse.

A red-stained hand snatched it clumsily. It was a key; small and silver, with a round top connected to one of those metal key-chain rings- there was also a round charm as big as the handle, the black numbers 1016 imprinted into the metal.

"It goes to a PO Box up in St. Petersburg. All the money I owe you, in cash, is in there."

Alec stared at the tiny thing in the palm of his hand, blinking sluggishly before casting his gaze back to Dmitri leaning against the wall impatiently. "How long has it been there?"

"Since I hired you," Mihailov raised an eyebrow in question. "What, you didn't think I'd keep my word, did you?"

"I didn't."

"Shows what you know, peasant."

A smirk lit Alec's pale face. "I stand corrected. You're not that much of a bastard."

"Yeah, go ahead and bow to my feet while you're at it."

"Don't push it."

The atmosphere between them lightened, as each of them wore smirks, content with the way they insulted each other and yet, in a way, helped bring a close to their long-standing agreement.

Soon enough though, the situation came back to them and Alec's smile turned bitter. "This is it then." Dmitri nodded, looking indifferent. "Are you really okay with this?"

That indifferent look turned into one of confusion. "Am I okay with what? Our deal is over, Alec, and I'm surely not going to miss you."

Alec chuckled. "I won't miss you either, but still, your plan is a bit crazy-"

"You don't know my plan-"

"You're going to die, D."

"Don't call me that," Dmitri scolded, straightening, pulling away from the wall and impatiently marching to the plastic chair across from Alec, sitting down with a huff. "Everyone dies Alec," the man stated whimsically. "I get the honors of dying for a cause."

The door to the right of the small room opened quickly, revealing their helicopter pilot Petri. He stumbled inside the room looking nervous and flushed. Dmitri instantly scowled in annoyance; that look told him everything he needed to know, the man's words were simply the beginning of an excuse. "There's nothing they can do, they won't even take collateral-"

Dmitri sighed, standing reluctantly, golden eyes narrowed. "I should have known you'd fail me. Get out of my sight. I'll negotiate this myself."

"Wait, Dmitri." The Russian paused in his angry stride to the doorway, turning back to Alec with that impatient glare on his face. Alec shook his head, "Fuck them, they won't give you anything. You'll have better chances at the dock."

"I'm not riding away on a _fishing boat_."

"Oh, sorry they don't have nice and pretty cruise-ships to choose from, jackass. I'm just saying, if you want to get out of Magadan _quietly_, a ship is your best bet."

"A ship won't get me to Moscow, Alec!"

"Go down to Japan or something; hang out there for a bit! I'm sure Peter can wait-"

"I doubt going to Japan will help me for long. Leaving the country won't save me."

"If you want to give that guy your silly book so bad, mail it to him then."

"I am not entrusting my family heirloom to the _post office_."

Alec groaned. "You're such a stubborn asshole." Brown eyes glared up at his employer, "Look, you're not going to get a plane, and even if you did, you won't be able to do it quietly. I bet you wouldn't get across the Siberian desert before a fucking _missile_ takes you out. Ivan has some serious power and if you want to get back to Moscow in one piece, you have to go _quietly_. Sure, it's not as fast as a plane ride, you'll have to make a few stops, but it'll be better this way."

Dmitri still looked unhappy, "Japan and China… Mongolia and Kazakhstan, they're not involved as far as I know… But I'm still not sure of who Ivan has on the inside. I can't go through without a passport-"

"You're forgetting the kinds of connections we have, D. Trafficking the two of us across Asia will be easy."

An annoyed huff left the Russian man near the door, "Fine."

…oOo…

The Canadian on the edge of the bed continued to fidget, peeking up through his bangs to see Ivan's expression, expecting anger and hoping it was not directed at him. However, the Russian's face seemed worryingly blank.

Canada looked past the indifferent expression; he got over the fear of seeing that spark of aggression and gazed into the dark violet eyes. He saw pain- the kind of grief that came with denying the truth; hoping it wasn't real.

"How much did you hear?"

The inflection in Ivan's tone hurt his heart. He could _see_ the conflicting emotions warring within the man- and Matthew wished he could say some words of comfort. If he were to answer Ivan's question, there would be none.

What could he possibly say to help him? What could he do to show Ivan nothing had changed between them?

He wanted Ivan to know- Matthew was not scared of him, of what he'd done, or of how badly damaged his psyche could be. What happened in the past was of no consequence, because the person before him now certainly didn't look like a monster and he definitely hadn't treated Matthew like one.

On shaky legs he stood, taking small steps up to the anxious Russian, their eyes remained locked on each other, even as trembling hands smoothed across thick forearms, feeling the tense muscles underneath.

The crossed arms were coaxed free at the touch, bringing down the barrier between them and allowing for Matthew to step closer. He could feel the other's warmth, feel the smooth contour of pale skin and he could see the bright violet-reds of the man's eyes, the hurt and fear…

"It doesn't matter what that book says, Ivan," Canada whispered. "This is who you are- right here. I do not believe anything that man or his silly book says."

"What if what he said is true?"

Matthew's arms snaked around the Russian's middle, wrapping around the waist. It brought him close enough to lean his forehead against the chest and it relaxed him; he could feel the man breathing, smell the soap he used in the shower, the detergent used on the clothes he wore, but it also came with a distinct presence of Ivan.

Ivan's form seemed to remain tense and the arms hanging at his sides froze, unsure of what to do. He remained calm though, eventually bringing his hands up to rest on the Canadian's shoulders, seeking answers.

"Then I want to hear it from _you_."

Ivan took in a deep breath, feeling their bodies press against each other with the rise of his torso, the warmth of the arms around him, the affection in Matthew's tone. He allowed his eyes to close and slid his arms fully around the blond man in front of him and tried to put his mind at ease.

He still worried and part of him was skeptical; what _did_ you hear- because it was impossible to be so aloof about it if Matthew truly knew.

Yet… Ivan could feel something wet soak his shirt, and with his arms around the Canadian's shoulders, he could feel a subtle shudder and he knew the blond was not as indifferent as he seemed. Who did he cry for? _Him_ or himself?

Ivan's arms pulled him a little bit closer, "Matvey, do you really-"

A loud jingle interrupted and Ivan let off in a groan, slumping even more against the Canadian who only laughed. "We just can't catch a break!"

"It's probably your brother, _again_."

They parted and Ivan looked at his phone with distain. Nevertheless, he answered the call, holding it to his ear in order to growl out a "Yes?"

Matthew didn't even need to try- the loud voice on the other end was unmistakable. "Russia! Damn it, answer your phone once and a while, douche-face!" A snicker from the Canadian; _Douche-face _was a new one.

"Da, apologies, Amerika, I was busy with other things- like watching over your brother."

"How is he?"

Ivan narrowed his eyes in uncertainty to the blond in front of him, not knowing whether or not to mention everything-Matthew was not fine; he was suffering from hypothermia, could hardly walk, and the marks on his body were not okay.

A hand came up, taking the phone away and cradling it against the uninjured cheek. "I'm fine, Al."

"Mattie! Oh, thank you! Bro, are you okay?"

"I just said, I'm fine," Matthew replied, a tentative smile lighting his face- America sounded so worried, and even if he felt guilty to have caused so much trouble, he was happy his brother cared so much.

"Hey, big brother Alfie is gonna be over there real soon, okay? Arthur and Francis are with me a-" a loud exclamation muffled across the distance. "Yeah, Gilbert's here too. Listen, give the phone back to Ruskie, we'll talk about where we'll meet."

Matthew nodded, which Ivan found was cute- it's not like Alfred could see that, but the boy constantly made gestures while on the phone. "Okay, but tell me how Kumajirou is first!"

A hesitant pause, "He's okay, Matt." Canada didn't like the suddenly submissive tone in his usually loud brother's voice. "He got pretty banged up but he's fine, healing fast. You'll see him when we meet up again, okay?"

There was nothing much Matthew could say against that so he nodded again, biting on his lip in worry as he handed the phone back to Russia.

Ivan gave them the directions to the hotel they stayed at, talking smoothly and quietly, asking about the men with them- who died, who was injured.

"Germany is a good nurse for now though," Alfred's laugh could be heard from the phone's speakers, carrying all the way to Matthew who still hovered nearby, listening intently. "It might take a while to get ready, your soldiers have been great, but, like England suggested, some of them need a real doctor to look over them, so we'll drop them off at a hospital before heading over."

"Da, спасибо."

"That better mean thank you, buddy."

"It does," Ivan's lips tilted slightly in an appreciative smile.

"You're welcome then, just keep my bro in your sight at all times and I'll do the same with Kumajirou."

"Da."

Both men let out a relieved sigh as the conversation ended and the black phone returned to Ivan's pocket, hopefully to remain quiet the rest of the day. He turned to see Matthew sit on the edge of the bed, carefully lowering himself as if it hurt and violet eyes narrowed. However, Ivan said nothing.

"I am so ready for all this to be over." Matthew said with humor. "I would gladly go back to the office and suffer through hours of paperwork and boring meetings again."

"So would I."

"Um, you're not going to get in trouble for all this, are you?"

"Medvedev will understand. If he is angry it will be at my carelessness. In truth, it is not my boss I worry about, it is yours. He will be mad at me for letting this happen to you."

"I'll make sure Harper doesn't! Our relations should improve, not worsen because of this!" Matthew huffed. "I just wish I could call my own military out here; it's not fair to let you tear that bastard apart by yourself."

A chuckle was his response and Matthew fell back on the mattress with an explosive sigh. "Let's watch the telly or something, eh? We need to take our minds off all this stress."

The Canadian rolled over, sliding open a drawer in the night-stand to find a remote, slowly bringing his body up to a lounging position against the bed's headboard. He tapped the space next to him, "Come sit and watch."

Russia didn't feel like watching television; the only channels they could get in a cheap inn such as this would be the news and fourth grade soap operas. He climbed up beside the blond anyway, laying somewhat uncomfortably on the queen sized mattress- feeling their elbows brush and still too anxious to fully relax or stay still.

The voices heard from the machine sitting atop the dresser gave Ivan a sense of numbness. He felt he should be standing at attention, watching the windows and doors for any sign of the enemy, checking Matthew's wounds, just to be sure they were healing… instead he was laying on a bed watching a sappy drama show like they were on vacation.

"Ivan," Canada murmured. "Tell me what they're saying."

"Really, Matvey?" he asked skeptically. "You want me to narrate this for you?"

A shameful blush crossed the boy's cheeks and Ivan regretted taking that tone with him, but… really, at a time like this…

"It will help me forget… and I like hearing your voice… je suis désolé."

With a scowl, Russia turned away from the boy's sorrowful expression (_he_ put it there, damn it!) and focused on the screen, watching two young women argue dramatically over something. "They're both in love and arguing about which of their boyfriends is better." Matthew looked up at him hopefully. "They're talking about how wonderful they are… The blond is describing what he does- the other woman said she's dating a guy who is also a… technician? Okay…"

Canada giggled.

"Both of their boyfriends also work at a mechanic shop… and," Russia motions cryptically at the television, as if waving away some pesky bug. "Turns out they're dating the same guy- shocking."

"So a greasy technician is a player? Who knew?"

"Da, that's definitely a twist at least, you would think it would be one of those popular guys. What do women see in technicians?"

"Someone who can fix my computer at my beck and call the moment it goes wrong- no telecommunication with stupid _service_… I'd tap that."

Ivan gave a surprised laugh.

"Ugh, but seriously, technician guy didn't know what he had, they're gonna get him back, aren't they?"

"Da!"

"Good, can't wait to see that."

He didn't stay awake long enough though, and as Ivan continued to summarize the conversations he heard on the television, he found Matthew spoke less and less throughout. Until, around the scene where the cheating boyfriend started to realize he'd been caught, Ivan turned to see the blond had fallen asleep.

He didn't seem very comfortable, sitting up the way he was, so Ivan tried to carefully maneuver him down, trying to get the head to meet the pillow.

A pained gasp froze him in place and Ivan checked his hands- perhaps he accidentally brushed one of the boy's injuries? With one palm supporting the back and the other at the back of his thighs, there should be no wounds. No injuries that he'd seen anyway, but then again, for the sake of privacy, Ivan skipped over the most southern part of Canada's form.

Funny, Matthew did the same thing upon helping Ivan back in Beijing, his scars and such going completely unnoticed by the boy…

Russia's eyes narrowed and the hand behind Matthew's legs moved to slide the red and black plaid shirt up. The bandages there were still clean, no sign of red peeking through the gauze, and he lowered his gaze to the jeans. The room was still dark, even with the light shining through the window and the artificial moving pictures from the television, but he could still see a glint of red just at the lip of the jeans.

Glancing up, just to be sure Matthew was still asleep; he hesitantly pulled one edge of the denim down. It didn't slip very far, buttoned and zipped up as it was, but the pants were baggy on Canada and Ivan only wanted to see what sort of mark he had missed.

He figured it was just another bruise, Matthew's body was littered with them, and Ivan didn't wrap every single one, seeing as that would solve nothing.

When the pants slipped over the thin hips and he could finally see the entire mark, it didn't look like a bruise per say, but a red impression in the flesh in the form of a crescent moon- more than one actually.

It didn't take long for Ivan to come up with a probable cause for their presence.

His hand fluttered across the skin, palm flush against the sleeping blonde's hip, lining up his fingertips with the spotted bruises almost perfectly. If he formed his hand into more of a claw, his nails could dig in, leaving similar kinds of shaped impressions at the edges as well.

Ivan was on the verge of another panic- a forceful grip on the hip like that usually came from…

Fuck decency.

Ivan leaned over the prone Canadian, bringing both hands to the top of the jeans, twisting the button loose and pulling the zipper down. He was gentle enough to not rock the boy's body or aggravate any hidden wounds but the mattress dipped and Matthew stirred at the treatment anyway, opening his eyes slowly in confusion.

"Ivan?" he asked groggily. The Canadian's eyes glanced from the taunt expression on Ivan's face to the hands messing with his jeans, brain trying to understand what was going on.

At first, he just looked befuddled, and if anything, that proved the amount of trust the boy held for him- for the first reaction to be a simple question of 'why exactly are you in my pants?' and not full out panic or anger.

However, he then seemed to remember something, as light violet lit up in what looked to be fear- and not at Ivan, but at _exposure_.

Russia knew he was hiding something from him then.

"What are you doing?" he squeaked. The blonde's hands snapped down to keep hold of his pants as Ivan began pulling them down.

Russia growled, emotion flaring in his chest, something he wasn't used to- oh, it held anger, that he was familiar with, but also hurt.

Quite frankly, he was tired of secrets, tired of trying to find everything out by himself, stumbling in the dark, waiting for a clue to present itself, only to add it to the list of things he knew nothing about.

Like an ignorant child attempting to play a game he didn't know the rules to, not even the goal or what could mean a victory or failure- and he would hardly allow his enemies to gain such a hold on him. He would _not_ allow Matthew to keep any more secrets from him regarding this.

"Were you raped?" he asked, raising his eyes in a sharp glare to Matthew's face.

Canada flinched back at the tone, the menacing look, the question itself. "Q-Quoi?"

"Did he touch you?"

"I-I don't-" Matthew's eyes were wide, cheeks pale, the grip on his jeans tight…

Russia cursed, moving off the bed in a fit of anger and stomping to the other side of the room, not knowing if he'd lash out and not wanting to be around Matthew when he did. Unfortunately, the other end of the room was still in striking distance- he could pay the inn's manager for repairs should he damage anything, couldn't he?

Because he really wanted to destroy something right now…

"Ivan," Matthew called. This was one hell of a way to wake up and his mind still struggled to process all of what happened.

He fell asleep to a calm kind of atmosphere, with Ivan's deep voice lulling him into a sense of security, the man's presence just at his side warm and comforting. Now though, to be awoken to something far less tranquil- to see Ivan mad at him, and to know that he was somehow found out.

He didn't know what to say, he wished he could say nothing at all, but one look at Ivan and he knew that was impossible. "I-"

"Shut up," the Russian snapped. "Just answer me, yes or no, did he touch you?"

"W-well it w-"

"_Yes_ or _No."_

"Yes!"

It still hurt to hear that, even if Ivan expected it. He took a deep breath, a failed attempt to calm himself, and turned around to the window, gathering the drapery that covered it in both hands and yanking it away. The hardware holding it up came loose from the wall, crashing down to the floor and flooding the room with late afternoon sunlight.

"I wasn't raped by him though-"

Russia spun around to look at the Canadian in shock. "What- who the fuck was it then?"

"It was Dmitri, but not…" Seeing Ivan's building anger, Matthew stopped himself, took a steadying breath for his own benefit (because he was freaking out too) and straightened up against the headboard like he was before. "Ivan, I'll tell you everything, just calm down, come sit-"

"Don't order me around! You answer my questions!"

"Don't take such a tone with me Ivan!" Matthew yelled back, slightly offended.

"Why did you hide this from me?" the Russian snarled.

"Because I didn't think it would hurt you if you didn't know! I wasn't being sneaky-"

"So that I can find out myself and know you lied to me? Нет, you tell me these things-"

"I didn't lie to you!"

"You withheld truth!"

"Don't be a hypocrite! You hide the truth too! Everything about you is a lie! You want me to sit here and tell you everything that happened to me back there? You first!"

Russia fell back at that, his upper back hitting the window pane, stopping his retreat. Canada almost regretted the harshness of his words, especially at the injured look that replaced the man's glare, but he spoke what he felt and it made Ivan stop and think at least.

The rage seemed to leave Ivan slowly and the man gave a shuddering exhale, looking away from the Canadian like he was embarrassed for such an outburst. His lips parted, but he stumbled over his words, unsure of how to salvage the situation, or deal with his own words backfiring against him. "Da, I-I haven't been truthful…"

Matthew looked to his lap, noticing the jeans he wore remained halfway down his thighs, revealing the shorts underneath. He started tugging them back up. "Dmitri touched me, he would have raped me too if he had the chance- he was _preparing_ me for it when Kumajirou came in. The gunfire interrupted him…"

"The bruises on you, the way you sit…" Ivan wondered quietly.

Matthew's thin shoulders, still tense from their outbursts, shrugged like it was no big deal, but his explanation was far from it, "His way of preparing me consisted of a dull knife."

Ivan really didn't know how to reply to that- his eyes remained downcast, his body frozen except for the big hands that kept balling into fists as he tried to control his anger. He was still resentful of the secrets all around him, but he could see how he'd done the same, and he could not blame Matthew for something he was guilty of doing himself.

Instead, that enraged feeling he was known for found another path to follow. Ivan already despised Dmitri so much; he didn't think he could abhor him any more- but this far surpassed those silly feelings of hatred.

No act of torture would be enough for the crimes Dmitri had committed. Everything Ivan could think of from his darkest days spent in prison cells, all the things he'd seen…

From the tools used to peel flesh from bone, to the instruments that could break every piece of a person, mentally and physically- all the time in the world to give a poor soul the chance to _wish_ for death, to beg for it between whispering sobs as months-years of prayers fell unheard… it was not enough.

At that moment, Ivan would consider nothing but an eternity of hell coming even close to befitting Dmitri's punishment.

To soil something like he had done- to have planned something even worse for someone unrelated to his problems with his own Nation, simply because Ivan _cared_ for the boy. It was cruel, unnecessary- passed the point of _sending a message_.

He wanted Dmitri caught _now_; he wanted to call in his entire military, get every single nation involved, to make sure that disgusting excuse of a man had no safe haven. Bumped to the most wanted criminal alive in every country around the world- no chance of escape, no mercy.

He still wanted to break something…

"I'm fine, Russia." Matthew stated. "Really, you don't see me crying about it. I'm sorry for hiding it."

"Matvey…" There was really nothing Ivan could say- he floundered at the art of comforting people, or giving them advice, a word of care or affection. He wanted to apologize to Canada, tell the boy to send everything he had to help kill Mihailov, lock the Canadian in a steel vault 6 feet thick so nothing can hurt him ever again. "I understand."

Canada looked up at him, a curious stare.

Despite the part of him that tried to warn of revealing too much information, he continued, "You know this too, da? That I had been through the same." Matthew's eyes widened. "The book says so I'm sure…" He swallowed thickly, wondering if he really was going to tell this tale, but… Matthew had to know this. "You are very strong, Matvey… Canada is strong."

"What are you saying, Ivan?" the blond asked softly.

"I'm glad you didn't break. Although, it was only a week, I shouldn't expect-" Russia stepped forward hesitantly, as if worried he'd frighten the Canadian by sitting on the bed next to him. "It took me a century to break… another century to fight back. And I am still like this. I am still not free."

"You are free Ivan." Matthew disagreed.

"Нет, but… It feels better than it was back then. As a slave."

"Wait… when?" Canada asked. "Before the Soviet Union, so, are we talking about the Mongols?"

Russia gave a dry chuckle. "If I was honest, I'd say even before them."

…Thank You…

Finally getting into more drama~

I enjoyed the ending actually, from Ivan finding out about Matthew's situation to the confession you'll see more of next chapter! I think that one might go by faster too, but we'll see. I realize I've been falling behind in my two week schedule, but there is really nothing I can do about work/school. Also, you all are _so_ lucky my mom got a brand-new laptop within the last month, because the desktop I usually write my story on crashed not long ago. XD

_Contest_! – Check out the deviant-art group!

More videos and fan-art has been added!

Hope you enjoy the read! Review please! :3

_Translations_:

Cпасибо (Russian): Thank you

Quoi (French): What?

_Disclaimer_: Do I have to disclaim everything? Even the soap opera they watched on the television? I made it up, but just in case (cause it would suck horribly to be sued) I do not own that monstrosity. Ivan has my permission to shoot it dead. – I don't own Hetalia or its characters~


	34. Фиолетовый: Purple

Chapter 34:Фиолетовый: Purple

_He was nervous… funny how Ivan never got the jittery feeling before any battle or confrontation, but he was plagued by a sense of anxiety every time a new leader of Russia was named. Most of his sovereigns were men he knew from their youth- the title, ruler of Russia, was passed down to the current ruler's son, someone Ivan knew personally._

_Indeed, the personification of the land of Rus knew the children who would one day govern over him and his people, but that didn't make them friends._

_Ivan was not allowed to have friends. He was a Country, his health rising and falling with that of the peoples, not needing the normal nourishments humans required. _

_People were afraid of abnormalities- which is probably why their secret was so well guarded- limited to only the most trusted of leaders. _

_Fear usually turns into segregation and hatred, exclusion and alienation, until Ivan was not considered a human with feelings. That's what he was brought up to be- not a monster specifically, but something not like the others, something without a heart, without compassion._

_Nobody wanted something like that around their children, but they would lead their eldest to the place Ivan was given to live (sometimes in the servant's quarters, sometimes outside the palace all together). His superior would look at him like he was an exotic and dangerous animal turned into a domestic pet. _

"_Look my son, one day, you will own him too. And I hope you will lead him well."_

_Lead him well? Had Ivan known he was being mistreated, perhaps he would have scoffed at that._

_This was all he knew- not exactly a slave, but a servant for the boss who ruled him, should he be asked to cook or clean, he had to. There were times he even did their laundry- perhaps that was a funny thing for them. _

_One of his bosses had often given him mundane tasks such as that, watching him with amusement as he cleaned the horses' stalls and farmed the lands with the peasants. He was always working, never allowed time to rest, not until he was fumbling with his tools, concentration wavering, threatening to faint with as little sleep as he'd had. _

"_What, you can't do this? I thought I ruled a strong country- I suppose I was mistaken."_

_Russia couldn't make them understand- he had human characteristics too, he needed sleep, and he needed food. He could still grow, yes- perhaps he would get taller in time, maybe he will fit the form of an athlete; but for now, he was nothing but the size of a teenager._

_That was unacceptable to his leaders. _

_Who wanted to rule over something like that?_

_However, no matter how much he was forced to work, he didn't change, and Ivan tried to tell them, he did…_

_It was the Country itself that needed change, the people were suffering- there were so many people who remained poor; the distribution of wealth unbalanced. There was a very big difference between the citizens that made up Ivan's life-force and the elite aristocrats that reign._

_Ivan came to realize… his people mattered little to his rulers._

_And he could do nothing about that fact._

_Then again, the personification of Russia hardly spoke to the leaders of his lands. Unlike the present day, he was not treated as an advisor but just another possession owned by his king. That was where the joke came from; he was merely the King's dog, and so he wore a collar like one._

_Simple, easy- humiliating, yes, but it was not something Ivan thought too much over back then. He never thought something like that would leave scars. It was not the collar itself that left marks however, it was the metaphorical _meaning_ of it._

_Eventually, throughout the time he wore it, it began to irritate him- it would become itchy, uncomfortable, tight and bothersome. He would take it off once and a while, but a phantom feeling of its presence would remain. He could _see_ the marks engrave themselves in his skin- and he had no idea what they meant._

_Even when he did realize… what could he do? Russia was chained and bound, his very people turned into slaves, and those grievances were making themselves known on his representing body._

_Yet he could do nothing about that. _

_Either he worked, trained… or went to war. _

_The one thing they would never exclude him from when they've taken away everything else; battle. _

_They'd all seen and admired his abnormal strength and the way he healed- his brilliant mind completely looked over, advice not wanted or needed. _

_In war, he was their solid piece of insurance, and that is where they wanted him. On the front line every time, among the first sent in…_

_Too bad he lost so much._

_Sweden and Denmark to the west, the Mongols from the south, China, Turkey, Japan, Prussia… they seemed much bigger than him back then, and each of them seemed to enjoy picking at his lands, starting skirmishes that killed many of his men and wounded him often. _

_Falling on the battlefield was nothing compared to limping back to his boss to receive the whole blame of failure on his shoulders._

_He could be tortured for his weakness should they desire it, and there were times he had been._

"_We will keep trying to make you strong."_

_Yet they went about it the wrong way._

_He starved, even with a plate of food placed before him; it could not quench the hunger he felt on behalf of the lower population who had no crops to grow. _

_Down in the dungeons, treated as a criminal until he could prove himself, hoping to see sunlight, wishing to know warmth, dreaming of the times he would feel no pain._

_War was felt as the Mongols treaded on his lands, beating, raping, pillaging and killing. Pain and fear, part of his own, but also a collection of terrified thoughts derived from his people._

_And the fires that raged across his cities- even Moscow._

_Burns on his body (for once the source not a hot poker or brand) leaving him immobile for days._

_Then came blackmail- money given to the Mongols in exchange for freedom of oppression. Until not only were the peasants poorer, but the aristocrats suffered financially as well, until they were ashamed. Humiliated as they were- forced into doing chores (like they had made him once before… Ivan couldn't even find the humor inside of him to laugh at the irony). _

_He didn't know what was worse- treated so unjustly by his own leaders, or ruled over by an outside force that simply took whatever they wanted from him. _

_When they'd finally had enough, when they finally fought back and won their freedom… _

_Ivan's enslavement had only just begun._

…oOo…

"Yeah, but…"

The doctor shook her head, the scowl on her face suggesting she was hearing no more from the anxious American before her. "We have to follow procedures, sir."

Alfred groaned in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "Then give us some papers to sign, release forms, whatever!"

The woman began to shake her head again. "With the injuries some of you have I could not, in my right mind, release you from-"

Prussia pushed passed an irritated America, "Lady," he spoke to the woman. She turned to him with a slight glare- obviously she was not in the mood for any more _convincing_. "We have better things to do than argue with you. Like it or not, we're walking out of here."

Larisa Zoya, as her nametag labeled her, gave a harsh sigh, looking away from the two difficult men in front of her to the patient (one of quite a few) that sat on the sterile white bed. Ludwig Beilschmidt, German, here with standard background and visa, looking for the entire world as if he were stung by a bee and not shot through the arm.

When a few dozen highly armed and uniform dressed soldiers drove up and unloaded wounded in the ER department, everyone sort of went into a panic. As far as they knew, nothing had warranted a battle anywhere near the city of Magadan.

A battle certainly had occurred however, as these were bullet wounds…

Then she, along with the rest of the faculty, heard something about a fire in Susuman, not far from there, as well as a few _bodies_ found dead in the snow that morning.

Unfortunately, the soldiers gave no answers to any questions, merely telling her to patch them up as best as she could before they had to leave. Papers needed to be signed and the release of certain patients was not in her best interest.

The ones who currently resided in the intensive care unit would stay, but still a few more wished to be released in order to join their faction in whatever orders they needed to carry out.

Really, the men were stubborn and determined; she had to admire their spirit. However, the part of her that had been caring for the injured and sick most of her life worried anyway- she never had contact with the military, their threshold for pain could certainly be higher than that of a normal untrained civilian. That didn't mean they didn't _hurt_, and it certainly didn't change the fact that they needed the proper time to _recover_.

Normally, when people got shot in the arm, they would wish for some good pain killers that would virtually knock them out for a week as they healed. Mr. Beilschmidt argued against any administered drugs and barely expressed any pain when she stitched the hole in his shoulder.

He sat there now, watching her with a composed face. "I'm fine, Miss Zoya," he said in slightly accented English. "Thank you for the concern, but there are others who could use your help more than I."

"Actually…" Everyone turned to the Englishman near the bedside, sitting in one of those overstuffed chairs that only looked comfortable. "We do have someone who needs the help more."

"Arthur, is that a good idea?"

France's wary question was ignored as the doctor turned to them with shock and the beginning of white hot anger. "You have someone else hurt and you didn't bring them in?"

"We couldn't exactly _bring them in_ like we did the others-"

"Show me!" she exclaimed. She couldn't believe these people!

Alfred shrugged, a little unsure, but definitely not against a professional looking at the special patient they had hidden away in the military vehicle still. "Let's go then."

Germany hopped off the bed to follow and Larisa glared at the man, not intimidated at all by his height or blank expression. She waved a finger at him, "Don't think you've been released just yet," she warned. He actually smiled at her then, like he was amused.

She huffed and followed the American as they filed out of the white room and into the busy hallway mostly filled with the soldiers they had come with. Through the ER room, which, despite its name, actually looked rather dull and empty at the moment (a good thing all around, and yet, it gave her a sense of foreboding) and out of the hospital altogether.

A bitter wind kicked up but the others merely led her across the large parking lot, around the cars and closer to the line of military vehicles they parked out of the way.

Herded into the back of a military vehicle (which was guarded by a rather stern looking woman who initially pointed a wicked looking knife in her direction) she didn't know what to expect.

An animal was the least of those on the list of possibilities.

Larisa was shocked to say the least, maybe a bit angry and annoyed, but who could blame her? She had just been asked to look over a polar bear…

She _did_ feel bad for the creature though- it had a tracheal tube down the throat, blood soaked its fur, and it looked like an operation on its chest and shoulder had already been attempted.

"We've taken the bullets out and stitched up what we could, but he has a collapsed lung and his heartbeat flutters abnormally."

She kneeled down beside the bear; slightly wary of its sedation- it _looked_ asleep.

Putting aside the fact that this animal was obviously used in whatever battle they were involved in (should she call an animal rights activist?), she took the stethoscope from around her neck and got to work observing the animal's breathing.

This poor thing…

"You're right," she stated softly. "He needs help or he won't survive much longer."

"Do something then!" the American said.

The doctor looked at him with a scowl. "I don't practice in animal-"

Arthur, the only one who had not been frustrated enough to yell at her yet (besides the quiet German), kneeled down beside her and spoke sincerely. "This bear is very special. I wanted to bring you here because I trusted you- we need someone to help him, quickly. Please…"

"I could get in trouble for this…"

Arthur continued to look at her softly, hope in those forest green eyes- the atmosphere around the entire group seemed solemn, as if waiting for her, pleading. Alfred and Gilbert for once looked desperate enough to ask instead of demanding, and…

Well, damn.

"Alright, let's get him to a room."

"I've got him," Natalia said. She seemed the most protective about the bear and kept sending suspicious glances Larisa's way. However, even she knew the situation was out of her hands, and the more help Kumajirou received the better. Her brown jacket was already covered in reddish-brown stains and she slithered her arms underneath the small body carefully.

Arthur made sure to carry the tubes and machines connected to the animal, holding them up and close to the source so that nothing snagged or pulled. As they exited the back of the truck, Larisa noticed how carefully they tried to keep the bear's form hidden from spectators as well.

It was strange to see an animal treated in such a way- how was the bear so important? She decided not to even ask.

Upon their return to the hospital, she took a gurney and led them to a prepared room, avoiding the other nurses and doctors along the way. "You're going to be my help," she ordered the followers behind her.

They looked relieved at that. The less involved the better.

…oOo…

_The enemy was not just outside- surrounded by Nations who wanted his money and land- but _inside_._

_Corruption would rot his government, his people… it would kill many_ _and change Ivan for the rest of his unnaturally long life. _

_Leaders came and went, some were cruel (they had to be- for they fought to keep their throne) others were weak, nervous, paranoid (and they fell all too soon). Ivan witnessed murders, tortures, deals were made, lives were thrown away; all for the chance to gain power._

_And it bred like a disease; royal families turned on each other, fear of being killed- betrayed or exiled. They wanted the strength; they each wanted the chance to rebuild Russia's reputation- the scars of their losses to be blown away- they wanted retribution, they wanted to clear their names._

_It created people like Ivan the IV, the boy who would one day climb to the top of the throne- over the bodies of his dead relatives. To look at Russia with such a demented look in his eyes and say, "You're not worth such bloodshed."_

_Once again, he was blamed- and once again, he was put through a rough regiment to help him grow; all the while fearing every step he took, lest he anger his leaders. He feared every turn he took in the palace, wondering if a frantic rebel within the walls awaited him, a sharpened sword ready to spill his guts all over the floor in order to make a statement._

_It had happened more than once…_

_Russia remained in a state of paranoia ever since._

_He continued to fight, gaining strength, yes, but at the same time, he remained weak. Soldiers were drafted for long sentences that basically called for death- he trained them, fought with them, and in the end, he seemed to connect with their tortured souls far more than he had to anyone else. _

_He spent way too much time on the battlefield as well…_

_Who was there to tell him things were wrong? Who could tell him he was being mistreated- that he was being made into a soldier without compassion? Nobody._

_He had no friends, no guardian- he hadn't known the Nations that were to be his sisters for very long. Ukraine didn't seem to understand anything; war, strife, pain. Sure, she was older, but she was a woman- women were more protected. Her troubles were contained to the blossoming lands her people were blessed with._

_Men were soldiers, and he was to be the best, even if it took millennia of blood, sweat, and tears._

_Soon enough, it became normal. The routine of battle became a comfort; he was _used_ to the screams of the dying, the roars of the desperate, the sobs released from the men at night, and the pleas of the injured. It still hurt him, yes, but perhaps he was under the impression that if he kept going_ _and got stronger- the easier it would be to support is people._

_The more he had- land, resources, money- the happier everyone would be, right?_

_The stronger he was, the more they would respect him._

_So he fought._

_Techniques that were once used on him were returned tenfold to the enemy, and he carried them out ruthlessly (and yes, perhaps there _had_ been a smile on his face as he stripped skin from bone, because he was all too happy to strike such fear into the people around him)._

_Fear of Ivan- the great soldier of the North, fear of _Russia_._

_It sent a great and terrifying message to the Nations that once picked on him- he was not weak anymore, and he was not afraid to go above and beyond simply killing his adversaries. _

_That's what it started as- the building of his reputation. _

_His leaders started molding him into a perfect weapon, and in the end, he had wanted to be seen as such; it meant he was strong and it made others think twice about going against him._

_What's the difference in one's perceived reputation and the truth though? Ivan was becoming more than just frightening. He embraced his own "identity" and allowed himself to slip into the image he created._

_He lost himself, and he didn't even notice._

_Although, it wasn't like his leaders minded… this is what they had wanted. Actually, it even looked like his mental instability was admired- people began to lose their minds like it was going out of style. He didn't know why…_

_Human minds were different from theirs, they were influenced much easier; for nations, the voice of their people acted like a conscience- the voice of reason was always there, Ivan simply chose to ignore it._

_It was more complicated for the leaders to keep reason when they were surrounded by so much death and betrayal. _

_There were precious few people they could trust._

_And Ivan's state of mind and new-found strength merely attracted a whole new kind of trouble._

"They once hated me for being weak… they then hated me for being strong."

"Marie of Tver…"

Ivan glanced over at the Canadian sitting next to him, so far silently listening with a perturbed look on his face- Russia couldn't decipher the emotion shining in the boy's eyes, but he looked surprised and yet uncomfortable with the name. "Da… her. As well as all the others she befriended. My power was admired by them- they wanted to possess a part of it in whatever way they could."

"Did you…" Matthew shifted nervously and Ivan waited uncharacteristically patiently for the question to form. "Did you give them children?"

"Нет. None of them could get pregnant from me, it's just not possible, but some of them believed they had."

"Did you enjoy it?"

Russia repeated a softer, more sincere "Нет," shaking his head for further emphasis. "That kind of attention was not what I wanted from them. If I needed a release, Matvey, I went to a brothel. I hardly ever did though… I didn't like being close to anyone. The intimacy of sex was not something I particularly enjoyed at the time. My dirty endeavors remained first and foremost to hurting people. Violence was much easier and more satisfying."

"But the Baltics…"

Ivan leaned back, laying against the bed's headboard like Matthew had done and looked up at the ceiling. He glared at it, looking offended at the mere memory. "They were Nations like I was- but naïve, weak, and they presumed to think they were better; they back-talked, disrespected- and were not grateful at all that I had decided to protect them. They wanted to be _free_; I showed them what could happen to them out there. I gave them a dose of reality and made them fear me.

"Maybe I took it too far," Russia admitted begrudgingly. "I didn't know what else to do though- in the beginning I thought I was doing a great good in taking them in; I wanted to make friends, I wanted to protect someone. All this power I had… it never went to anything but destruction." He brought a hand up between them. "These hands only hurt others- they never protected."

"Yes they have," Matthew disagreed softly. "They protected your people."

"Yet no matter how powerful I became, even my people hated me."

"They do not," Canada chided. Russia's hand suspended between them was taken, warm palms enveloped the larger one, fingers lacing together.

Ivan's eyes snapped to their connection instantly, widenening slightly at the sight and curiously soft and touched. Slowly, as if afraid of hurting the boy, he tightened his grip, returning the affectionate hold.

"The scars around my neck only got worse over the years," the man murmured. "I watched them dig deeper, spread farther. I let them suffer for so long… They deserve to hate me."

"You suffered with them though, Ivan…" Matthew looked up with a pained expression. "The Revolution- you waited until then, that's when your people revolted against the government. That's when you freed yourself."

Russia shrugged slightly. "It was a breaking point for them, but I don't remember much of it. There was so much noise in my head- so many opinions and ideas; it hurt. No matter which side won, I would still lose. Besides, I just went from one kind of prison to another. The Socialist Party was no different than the leaders before."

"It's different now though, oui? You're not communist anymore, your people have freedom."

Ivan paused, unsure of how to describe the feelings he had toward his boss and the changes he'd been through. "Slowly it has gotten better." He shook his head. "It was not simply communism though- China does well under his government… Sometimes, it's all about the leaders and their decisions. We've always had choices - a dictator can always be stopped, but there was a point in time where my people wanted someone strong like that to lead. They wanted Joseph Stalin, even if he killed many of his own people, just as Germany needed someone like Hitler.

"And too late, we all realize how horrible our own choices were. Maybe it was just bad luck, da? Three centuries of it…" Ivan smirked with a dry humor, and Matthew frowned. "Now… people like to pretend things like that did not happen. People do not want to remember terrible things like that, and my past was never considered relevant by others. It's complicated, twisted-"

"I cannot forecast to you the action of Russia," Matthew quoted. "It is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma; but perhaps there is a key. That key is Russian national interest." The Canadian smiled dryly. "I was with England a lot back in the World War; I was there when his boss made that speech."

"Da… I remember it." That smirk turned soft and sincere as violet eyes gazed into mauve. "You were one of the first to try so hard to understand, besides the Baltics and my sisters… Why did you want to know about me, Matvey?"

"I wanted to know more about you since back then," Canada admitted shyly, the hand gripping the Russian's softly. "Longer even- out of all the Nations, you were the most like me regarding the people, the climate. Yet you became so strong- you were respected, even if others kept their distance. I wanted to know you; how, why… There were always wars to fight though, and I couldn't get close to you- especially when America claimed his hatred for you."

Russia's hand was squeezed slightly, brought closer to the Canadian's chest as Matthew sighed. "There were only two sides of you I'd ever seen or heard about; this fake, happy, child-like exterior or some kind of ruthless devil that could destroy you without care… I knew there had to be more. Katyusha spoke about you often, and she admired you.

"I admired you. In everything you did, you had confidence… you are amazing, Russia. I just… hadn't been able to see it all until you let me in."

Ivan looked away, a frown on his lips and heavy, fast paced heartbeat- Matthew's words meant so much to him, he couldn't even think of how important they were to him.

"You may have hurt others- you may have shown no mercy to an enemy and you could hate your government all you want- I think we all hate our leaders at some point. But you've never hated your people, Ivan. You guarded them and kept them safe all you could; you've protected your sisters-"

_No he hadn't_… "Ukraine left the first chance she had, and she said herself: she was afraid of me like all the others," Russia interrupted.

"She also said she loved you."

"Not enough to stay," he bit back, but the force wasn't in his voice. "What's the point?"

"You don't have to be a part of the same union to love and support each other. You created the Soviet Union, brought in all those nations, because you wanted a family, but a family should always be equal." Canada leaned forward to catch Ivan's gaze. "I didn't have to be part of you for you to protect me as you did."

"This is different, Matvey. Besides, you were scared of me too, weren't you?"

Matthew couldn't help but smile. "Well, you're good at being intimidating, and you did break my fingers. I think that warrants a little caution." Ivan's eyes flickered away guiltily. "I'm not afraid of you now though."

"You should be… Nothing has changed. I'm still the same person I was back then."

"Non," Matthew brought their connected hands up to place a soft kiss on the Russian's knuckles. "You're not the same. A monster would have forgotten me, Ivan." There was only a second's hesitation as Matthew judged whether or not Russia was comfortable with that act.

Those violet eyes were back to gazing at him in wonder, watching him with surprise.

Matthew simply smiled, repeating the touch of affection on the back of the hand. He let the cool skin of Ivan's hand touch his cheek, bringing it close to feel its warmth. "You're not incapable of protecting someone, Ivan. A part of me always knew that."

The Russian's hand moved, rough knuckles brushing across Canada's cheek, a sense of wonder overcoming him as the boy leaned into the touch, unafraid- enjoying it even. There was nothing but care in those amethyst eyes, something Ivan had never seen directed his way; no pathetic sympathy or pity. They were sincere, holding a desire to simply be close to _him_.

Russia, the one people feared- and Canada wanted to be _with him_.

Ivan's hand, so much larger than Matthew's, continued around to the boy's face. That one stubborn curl of blond, as beautiful as it was, kept blocking those violet eyes, and Ivan pushed it aside, tucking it behind the Canadian's ear for the moment.

Matthew smiled, beautiful, trusting-

He was always there, even when Ivan hadn't been paying attention, waiting for the moment they could just _talk_. Waiting all this time- and in everything Russia knew about Canada's past, the one thing prevalent was loyalty, devotion, compassion.

How often Canada had waited with the patience of a saint…

Those were things Ivan had carelessly called weakness at one point in time, but now… staring at those values straight in the face; he realized how important they were. Everything Matthew stood for was exactly what Russia wished he had for so long.

Someone to look at him and see something other than a terrifying past, a broken mentality, a twisted sense of humor- to be able to _trust_ him in a way no one else ever had.

Matthew was something he didn't know he needed so desperately.

He didn't remember leaning forward, lifting his back from the headboard, closer to the Canadian- _closer_, so close, until all he could see was gold and violet.

His lips touched another's; soft, warm, slightly chapped. A simple brush that not even Ivan, as the instigator, expected. Canada's reaction was only a sharp gasp of surprise, and yet, he didn't move, the grip around Ivan's hand (the one that buried itself in wavy gold) tightened, and in the next second he pressed back.

This emotion they felt for each other finally seemed to have a source, an outlet.

Neither of them breathed as they kissed, enjoying the connection of their lips, and when it came time to part, they did so slowly, reluctantly. Their breath returned in shallow inhales they could feel as close as they were, foreheads almost touching.

Matthew smiled again, brighter than ever before, bringing his arms up and around the Russian's shoulders. Ivan returned the embrace, mind still racing, unbelieving of what he had just done or that his action was reciprocated- he only knew a bursting kind of elation. Happiness- like he was flying.

He smiled, honest, true, and it felt strange on his lips, but he didn't care- he simply returned to press another kiss on the blonde who had changed his entire world.

…oOo…

A good few hours passed as the group of representative nations watched the doctor- her careful administrations, the calmness she had even as she ran across problems and close calls as she operated on Kumajirou. It was unclear how long she had practiced this type of medical procedure, and it had never been done on a polar bear before, but she handled the situation very well and in the end, the others couldn't have made a better decision in choosing her for assistance.

Kumajirou was stable, breathing much easier- the hole within his lung was sealed and the fluid expelled from the ruptured organ. The heart problem, seemingly caused by the strain and loss of blood, was corrected and now the only thing they had to do was monitor the way he healed.

They had to make sure the bear breathed right, keep an eye on the heart, the stitches, and the animal's movements. Larisa recommended them to simply keep the bear sedated (not just because it was an _animal_ though, but because the pain he'd be in would not be worth it anyway).

She was thanked by all of them, sincerely and worriedly, with a conviction that surprised her. Again, the polar bear took such precedence…

"I'll bring the truck up front," Alfred said, already inching for the door.

"You're going now? You have not been released yet!"

Gilbert slung an arm around her shoulder. "I told ya, doc, we have things to do. Listen… Maybe the awesome me will be back."

The big blonde German tugged the back of the man's shirt with his uninjured arm. "Let's go bruder."

Belarus, England, and France stayed behind to get Kumajirou ready for transport. Arthur smiling stiffly at the doctor who had helped them so much, "Your help was appreciated. I'm sure you'll be thanked more personally later on."

Larisa fought back a blush.

"Okay, we spent way too much time here; we need to get back to Mattie!" Alfred exclaimed. Prussia nodded vigorously.

"Ja!"

"He is with Russia, I'm sure he's safe." Ludwig spoke calmly.

The other two sent a perplexed look back at the man. "Are you kidding?"

"It's _Russia_! I wanted to be the first to invade, damn it!"

America practically tripped. "_What_? Oh, fuck no, Prussia, you aren't _touching_ my little brother!"

A _kesesese_ answered him, "You should see your face!"

"I mean it, nazi!"

"Ja, ja." Gilbert continued to grin manically, if just to spite the American who glared at him- he _was_ partially joking, since he understood the situation far better than Alfred did.

With the talk Ivan and Gilbert had back in Moscow, it was clear just who Matthew had fallen for- and even if he _hated_ Russia, Gilbert could see he had lost his chance; Ivan would protect Canada.

Well, if he didn't, then he'd be nuked beyond recognition…

As they turned through the corridors and entered into the normal Emergency Room, things more or less calmed down. Despite being the _ER_, not many severities came in- they were, however, the closest hospital to the harbor, and many accidents came from working around the water.

It was relatively quiet for the time being, and the hall looked empty.

However Alfred hadn't been paying attention upon turning the last corner (he was too busy fuming and glaring back at Gilbert), and a collision of some sort resulted- not much of a surprise, really... "Ah, shit, sorry!"

Gilbert scoffed, leaning over to see the poor man America had basically run over, as if whatever ailed him before wasn't enough; being laid flat on his ass surely didn't help. He now held his shoulder tightly, growling obscenities in angry Russian.

Then he turned to glare up at America with dark chocolate eyes, speaking in clear English. "Watch where you're going, damn it!"

Alfred frowned, honestly apologetic. "I'm really sorry, man." He held a hand out to help the man up. Blue eyes only slightly surprised (and all the more guilty) when a bloody hand connected to his own. He pulled the man easily onto his feet.

"Yeah, whatever. It's a hospital; you don't go running around-"

"Yes, yes, but I'm sure they were in a hurry, Alec." Another man, dressed in casual slacks with a light blue buttoned-up shirt came to stand beside the injured Russian Alfred had knocked down. A strange pair of golden eyes regarded the entourage coolly.

His attention lingered on the American a bit, then to the Prussian and German. It was a strangely blank expression he wore as he observed them, but those yellow eyes flickered in anxiousness quickly replaced by a flare of dignity. "We're in a hurry too. So let's get going- we don't want you passing out again, now do we?"

The man named Alec grumbled. "Yeah, you sound like you care."

A smile lit up the man's face and Alec looked at it suspiciously. "I do care. Really, Alec, don't be so crass." A hand tightened around the uninjured arm and an insistent pull drew the Russian away. "Let them pass now. Let's go."

Alfred nodded, smiling brightly, "Yeah! Sorry again, buddy!"

…Thank You…

So is this your favorite chapter so far or what?

They _kissed_. XD That made me so happy to write- you don't even know. It's like _finally_, Ugh!

But they haven't really realized just how to admit it was more than that. Still! I was so glad to get them even closer together! :D

It didn't look right in some parts though, like, I imagined so many different scenes of Ivan's past I could go into (and I was wary, because recently my interpretations of Hetalia regarding the past as been misconstrued). I wanted to take a vague look at it, and yet there were mini-stories I could go into specifically involving certain leaders of Russia's.

Either I'll continue with peeks of flashbacks in later chapters or put them as new stories. Which I've wanted to do for a while- I have a collection of drabbles building up.

Anyway, tell me what you think! :)

_Translations_:

None…

_Disclaimer_: I do not own anything but the original characters I've made up! Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.


	35. Gris: Grey

Chapter 35: Vert: Green

_Either Matthew pulled him or Russia pushed him, but somehow, the broader of the two towered over the other. A leg fell over him, his arms braced on either side of the Canadian's form; they sealed their lips once more. There was a moan, a spark of white hot heat that Ivan hadn't felt in a very long time if he were honest, much less indulged in._

_Their bodies were made for each other, he thought. The way Matthew fit against him was perfection, the smooth hands skirting across his chest, the lips moving languidly with his own. _

_Russia convinced himself to pull away before he could devour the boy, but the sight was just as tempting as the taste. Canada lying comfortably beneath his hovering form, chest to chest, with hazy eyes and red lips. _

_This was what a simple kiss turned into…_

_And this was where it would end. For now._

_They both breathed heavily, wishing for more but knowing they were not ready for multiple reasons. _

_They remained as they were though, so close and warm and content; bathing in the glow of finding something so special between them._

_One of Matthew's hands shifted, running up the center of Ivan's chest, between the pectorals, to stop where the heart was- feeling the beat beneath his fingertips. He smiled happily, "It's going so fast. Like mine."_

_He shook his head, a small smile on his lips, "Surprised it has not fallen out, da?"_

"_That's not really romantic, Russia," he laughed._

_Ivan tilted his head. "The phrase 'you have my heart in your hands' was _supposed_ to be romantic. You mean it is not?" Canada continued to chuckle._

"_Non, it's not literal!"_

"_You do not want it then?" Matthew's stunned expression gave him a pause. "Because… you are the only one to touch it like you have- literally and figuratively." Russia frowned. "I don't know what else to do for you anyway. So, you can have that, da?"_

"_Ivan…" The hand on his chest lifted to the man's cheek, a smooth palm caressing the broad jaw line. _

_Ivan felt a chill run down his spine at the action and warmth bloomed in his chest. Nobody had touched him so affectionately before- at least, he had never allowed anyone to._

_The Canadian's hand continued to his hair and the fingers threading through the strands at his scalp pleased him. "You shouldn't give such an important thing away, Ivan."_

"_It was never important to me."_

_Matthew frowned. "Well, it is now."_

"_Now that it means something," Russia stated, focusing his gaze back at the Canadian. "I never had need for it. And you… treat your heart well, if that makes sense." He paused, the words in his mind not exactly translating very well. It just sounded awkward and jumbled but he tried anyway, to make Matthew understand. "So you can have this one too."_

_Canada smiled again, but it was with a dry humor. "Merci beaucoup then for such a great gift, but you know, when someone gives their heart to another, they usually give theirs as well."_

_Russia looked horrified at that idea. "_Нет!_"_

_Matthew looked up with wide innocent eyes. "So you don't want mine?"_

"_No! I mean… Da, but…"_

_A snigger, "Well, I trust you, eh?"_

_Ivan mumbled in bitter Russian, looking away from the smiling Canadian just below him, and when that hand in his hair continued brushing across his scalp, he let his head fall. The crook of Matthew's neck was warm and supple. The perfect place to lay his head- the hint of maple still clinging to Canada's form was a pleasant smell. "You keep saying things like that…"_

"_Probably because you've given me no reason to do otherwise."_

"_I've given you plenty of reasons," Russia grumbled into red flannel. "You're just incredibly stubborn- or stupid. Whichever one."_

_The indignant smack upon Ivan's side hardly hurt and Matthew's laugh echoed beautifully in the Russian's ears. _

…oOo…

He was so warm.

That was something he didn't often feel.

His actual body temperature never changed during the seasons but there was always a deep penetrating cold at the tips of his fingers and the bottoms of his feet. Sometimes, he could wake up and the entire left side of his body could be numb from the chill of winter.

Strangely, he didn't feel so cold at the moment. It concerned him actually, as it was such a rarity.

However, after a quick assessment of his Nation as a whole, he realized everything was as it should be- his land and people were safe. Nothing had changed.

Yet he felt… different.

He had forgotten why until he opened his eyes.

A bundle of heat lay right next to him. Waves of blond hair splayed across the pillow (although his arm seemed to be a rather good addition to the support of the boy's head as well). Sinewy arms attached themselves around Ivan's torso and the Canadian's face to whom these characteristics belong to nuzzled into the Russian's side as if he were just another pillow.

Canada.

It was endearing, cute, and Ivan had a slight tilt to his lips as he observed the boy. They hadn't fallen asleep this way. Originally, they were on separate sides of the bed, both determined to stay awake until the arrival of the other Nations- but obviously that didn't last.

Ivan hadn't slept for two days (except for the short nap as he watched over Matthew last night), and Canada was still recovering. Russia didn't remember when he fell to sleep- nor could he recall when Matthew had rolled over to basically _snuggle_ into him.

And he certainly couldn't remember bringing an arm over the boy's shoulder as if to encourage that act.

Now he was faced with the aftermath; waking up to Canada like this, observing their positions, analyzing how deeply involved they were… trying to make sense of it all.

He wasn't good with relationships and he couldn't say he'd ever been in _love_ before, but he knew what he felt for the boy next to him- and the intensity, as well as the meanings themselves, scared him. He had so many insecurities regarding these kinds of things, and he realized they were foolish thoughts that Matthew would disagree on should he hear but…

He was not a kind person (and for the sake of Matthew's displeasure, he won't call himself a Monster, even in his own thoughts) - he didn't know the first thing involved in _courting_ someone, much less someone like Canada.

He deserved much better than _him_, right?

And yet, just the thought of Matthew kissing or touching someone other than Ivan sent a bright flash of jealousy running through his blood.

He was hopelessly hooked.

He couldn't find it in himself to regret it though.

However, assuming they both felt the same about each other (Matthew kissed him _back_- Ivan still couldn't believe that), how exactly would this relationship work? He was Russia; a Nation with many responsibilities and enemies. Matthew was Canada, the brother of _America_, and he would have to stay in his own Country, taking care of his own business.

They were thousands of miles apart with a whole mess of political rules and opinions standing in the way.

How often would they see each other?

Their bosses would not approve…

Their family would not approve…

It was sounding like a rather twisted Romeo and Juliet- but looking at the boy lying against him so peacefully, Ivan couldn't help but _wish_ they were normal for once. Maybe then he would feel more suitable- responsibilities wouldn't weigh so much, politics wouldn't rule his actions, and more time could be focused on _them_ and whatever they had.

If they _had_ something… Was he over-analyzing it all?

The boy against his side shifted slightly, the lax hand on the Russian's chest gathered fabric in his fist, pulling it closer. Obviously, seeing as Ivan currently wore the shirt, he couldn't displace the cotton material any more than an inch or so, and in his sleep Matthew didn't try very hard when met with resistance. So he simply burrowed closer, letting out a peaceful sigh as he settled, leeching some kind of warmth from Russia.

He was so close now, and in a way it made Ivan uncomfortable- he could hardly move with the blonde latched onto him as he was, and he would roll off the bed should he try. Ivan was used to sleeping alone, on a huge bed with all the covers he needed.

At the same time however, he was happy- there was trust in the simple act of sleeping together, there was affection, even while deep in slumber, and Ivan couldn't help but bring his one free arm up to thread his fingers in golden locks.

His mind continued to race as he brushed through the soft threads of hair, and he tried to keep focus on the present; worrying about their future would get him nowhere when so many problems remained unresolved.

A loud knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and the voice that accompanied it (shouting in order to be heard through the wood) confirmed their guests' identity. "Ivan! Mattie! Let us in!"

For the second time, Matthew stirred, making a sound of displeasure and lifting his head, blinking sluggishly at the sudden racket. He took a moment to observe his surroundings,startled a bit by the large hand retreating shyly from his blond hair.

His bleary violets followed the limb to the source- Ivan, who, he slowly came to realize, was practically underneath him…

Matthew wasn't quite sure how that came to be, but he had the decency to blush, and Ivan returned the embarrassed expression with a chuckle (and tried not to do the same).

Despite the little voice that told him to stay right where he was, Ivan used the opportunity to scoot away from the Canadian, almost falling off the mattress, and scowling at the door as another barrage of knocking sounded- was the American that impatient? He contemplated taking his rifle…

Canada mumbled something, sitting up and patting down his hair. "Is it them?"

"Open the door, commie!"

Ivan didn't even have to answer after that; who else called him a commie nowadays when he had long turned socialist? "Da, Alfred, hold on!"

He made his way around the bed, keeping an eye on Matthew as he did- he wondered how the Canadian was feeling. Too much energy around him would not be good for his improving health, should he take a moment in order to tell his family this?

He could assume Canada wanted most, if not all, his injuries to remain a secret (at least the more southern problems that kept him from sitting up without a wince of discomfort).

He'd very much like to check on how severe that wound was, actually, (the implications a _dull knife_ could leave was worrying, to say the least) but Canada wouldn't allow that- unless… maybe if Russia pushed the subject enough-

Ivan shook his head ruefully; Matthew was fine and had already proved he would take care of that particular injury himself, to assist upon an intrusion would merely insult him.

"What are you doing in there?" Alfred yelled."I know Mattie would make a good wife but if I can't have him then no way am I letting _you_!"

Ivan nearly tripped, looking up at the wooden door with wide eyes, mouth open in shock. Where did that come from? Who would just assume that? It sounded like a something _Gilbert_ would say! "W-what? No! I-"

Matthew laughed- both at the comment from his brother and Ivan's horrified face. Was it an instinctual reaction for Ivan to be so terrified at the word "wife?"

Ivan turned to look at Matthew as the boy continued to giggle uncontrollably.

"R-Russia," he said between laughs. "Marry me, marry me, marry me, brother."

Ivan huffed. "I resent that, Matvey! Don't make fun of my situation." He started to pout, crossing his arms and looking at Canada with a child-like expression that suggested his favorite toy had been taken away. It only made Matthew laugh harder.

Alfred knocked again. "Seriously, Mattie, you should marry _me_! Not a big, ugly Russian- ew!"

Canada's laughter petered off and the boy shook his head as Ivan walked over to unlatch the door's locks. Alfred was revealed on the other side with a large grin and a fist pumped in the air (his dubbed 'hero-pose').

"You haven't asked me to marry you since the Revolution," Matthew stated.

America nodded. "Yeah! And if you were my wife-"

"I'll kick you right in the vital regions, Al," Matthew said with an innocent grin. "Again."

Alfred's heroic stance withered. "Oh, come on! I need more oil-"

"Then I'll set fire to your capitol."

"B-but-"

"You can forget about my beer too, and all the Chrysler and Dodge-"

"Don't take away my trucks! Dodge trucks are the shit, you can't take that!"

"Just did."

Alfred sniveled. "Why so mean Mattie?"

Canada's smile turned honest and the blond opened his arms wide to welcome his brother to a hug. America straightened in that instant, running past the door (and an amused Russian who tried not to laugh at the brothers' conversation) and into Canada's embrace.

_So that's how you reject a proposal, _Ivan thought with a snort. _That would not work on Belarus!_

"Mon Mathieu!" A teary eyed Frenchman pushed passed the Russian next, running into the hotel room and throwing himself onto the bed, enveloping the surprised Canadian in an embrace along with his brother. "Mon chérie! Oùes-tu blesse? Parlez-moi."

"I'm fine, papa. Ça va."

England was the last to pass through the doorway, nodding to Ivan as a greeting and watching the mess of bodies on the small Queen sized mattress. Like a strategic maneuver in a battle game- the bed was the high ground and Matthew was the flag to steal- America and France actually had a grapple over which one could hold the blond.

"Stop acting like children, you're going to hurt him, idiots," England snapped.

"But he's my brother!"

"He's _my_ son!" France whined

Russia smiled in that fake child-like expression, his palm itching to hold a blunt object like his pipe- the rifle would make a good replacement, by the way, and he had no qualms about using that. "Matvey should not be jumped on, da?"

Matthew's laugh was the only thing that stopped him from punching both of them into unconsciousness. "Calm down everyone, I'm fine, just be careful, eh?"

Alfred pouted, leaning even closer, a hand gripping his brother's chin to turn the blonde's head. The bandage on his cheek was inspected with cool blue eyes. "Mattie, where else are you hurt?"

"Everywhere," Matthew said with a small chuckle. "But it's just some bruising, a couple scratches; nothing serious- most of it is healing already. It just… hurts to breathe." A deep frown crossed Canada's face. "Where's Kuma?"

"Just outside, lad," Arthur smiled. He couldn't help but swoop down to give the Canadian a short but meaningful embrace. "Germany and Belarus are with him, they've done the best job of keeping him safe and healthy- we've been so worried about you two, I'm glad you are alright, Matthew."

England pulled away; crossing his arms self-consciously for the show of emotion, but that small smile remained. He turned to Ivan then. "Your men are outside as well. For Russian soldiers they've done very well."

Russia nodded, for the praise from one nation to another regarding military was quite a compliment indeed. He strolled over to the bed, pushing Alfred out of the way to pull back the blankets wrapped around Matthew's legs. "You want to see Kumajirou, da?"

"Oui." Canada seemed to understand where this was going, even as he blushed furiously, he draped an arm over the Russian's shoulder, feeling the taller Nation lift him up with ease.

"Wait! I can carry him, Ivan!" America stated with an irate expression.

"Нет." He was going to be selfish and keep the blond as close as possible. This was greatly preferred…

"I-it's alright, Al. My legs aren't that steady right now, eh? Russia c-can carry me." Matthew sent a disarming smile to his family who merely followed a step behind them as they walked out of the room. "If I'm not too heavy," Matthew laughed.

Ivan chuckled. "Нет." Arms tightened imperceptibly around the boy's legs and lower back. "It is much better now," he continued in a lower one of voice so that only Matthew could hear him clearly. "You are awake, and warm. _Alive_."

Violet eyes looked at him in contemplative silence before a small, trusting smile brightened the Canadian's visage. The arm around Russia's shoulders slid closer, the flannel fabric against the naked scars upon Ivan's neck made him flinch but… he didn't get angry like he would have. His reaction to such a simple touch once seemed violet and overly dramatic- he still didn't like it, the touch seemed to burn and irritate. However, this was Matthew, the one who, despite knowing the truth, looked at his scars with respect. He didn't see them as a mark of servitude, but a show of strength and determination to his people.

_"You suffered with them though, Ivan."_

For now, he felt he could handle it. And through their locked gazes, Matthew could see that. His smile widened. "Thank you, Ivan."

"Da."

Snickering was heard from behind and Matthew looked over Ivan's shoulder to see France giggling behind a hand (the first real smile he'd had since this fiasco began). "You look so cute, Mathieu. Like a bride."

Canada whined, cheeks glowing a shade of rosy red. "Shut up, Papa!"

The first step outside of the Inn was a cold one and Matthew was suddenly glad to have a body to press against to ward of the chill. As well as have someone walk through the thick snow underfoot for him as he had no shoes.

The caravan was just outside; a dozen soldiers standing at attention to protect the cargo, the one in charge immediately sent a salute as he recognized Ivan as a superior. They spoke in Russian casually after greetings, Canada feeling more than a little awkward as the men gave him confused looks. He was glad they did not question his position (or if they did, it was in a language he did not understand- therefore, he couldn't be embarrassed).

Germany's bright blond hair peeked out from behind the tarp on the vehicle so tightly guarded, his blank face showing slight relief. "Ivan, Matthew. It is nice you see you are well."

"Brother!" Belarus's voice was heard next and Germany jumped the short height to the ground, politely letting the woman Nation past. He even held out a hand like a gentleman to help her down, but she merely passed the offer by carelessly, skirts flying as she hopped to the snow-covered earth.

Her navy blue eyes held worry, a rather flashy kind of emotion she didn't display often, but her expression slowly closed up at the sight before her.

Canada was beginning to think walking himself would have been the best plan after all…

She walked toward them with considerably less energy than she had started with. "How are you feeling, brother? You were burned in the fire, yes?"

"Da, only a little. I am fine now," Ivan replied with a pleasant but distant voice. He knew how carefully Belarus needed to be handled- she was unpredictable.

Her guilt in allowing Kumajirou to get hurt after he trusted her with his protection showed promise, but whether she felt that she had let _him_ down, or was actually sad about the bear's injuries, who knew?

It also didn't change the fact that she despised Canada so much already- jealousy and competition- those enraged feelings still warred within her, proven as she cast a rather cold glance at Matthew…

She stunned them into silence with her next question though. "Is Canada okay as well?"

Matthew blinked in surprise. He didn't expect _her_ to ask such a thing, but he let a hesitant smile light his face. "Oui, I'm feeling a lot better now. T-thank you."

Natalia hummed uncaringly, looking away from him as if he were of no interest to her- even if he said he was _not_ okay, he probably would not have received a different reaction. "If you feel so much better then I assume you can walk on your own? Or are you so helpless-"

"Natalia…" Ivan trailed off.

She stopped, scoffed in a rather out of character fashion and waved a hand in dismissal. "Do as you will, brother." She glared at the ground in anger but said no more.

Matthew's small smile never waned through her beginning of a rant. Instead he tried to make eye-contact with the woman and say, "Thank you for taking care of Kuma." Then he gave another meaningful look to Germany. "Really… Thank you."

Ludwig smiled appreciatively. "Ja. Gern Geschehen."

Belarus nodded, crossing her arms in front of her chest and stepping aside stiffly when Ivan carried Matthew up to the vehicle. When he was safely inside the enclosed space, his arm left Ivan's shoulders, his legs were released, and his bare feet touched the cold aluminum alloy of the truck bed.

Matthew didn't even feel the freezing temperatures- and he didn't recall if he was able to walk straight or if he _crawled_, but he somehow made it across the vehicles long cargo space to the front where stained white fur lied.

He hovered over his friend's body, wide violets roaming the limp animal; observing every inch. All the tubes, the bandages, the stitches, the _blood_.

_How much blood was _his?

Pale hands shook as they carefully brushed across one of the fluffy ears- the fur was not soft or smooth- not white. It was hardened red and black with dry blood, and Matthew winced in horror and sympathy.

Those black eyes were closed- not a single movement from the animal as Matthew caressed the bear's face.

Canada's breaths were so short and he could hardly see through the blur of tears. This was _Kumajirou_, the polar bear who had been with him since he could ever remember. Before he knew he was a Nation, even- Kumajirou had been there to care for him. His best friend: his only companion that would never leave him.

The one who would die for Matthew…

He looked dead as it was- the chest rose and fell so slowly, blood covered him, bandages restrained his left foreleg to discourage its use and assure the bullet wound at the shoulder healed. There were a few spots of deep red seeping through.

It was a heartbreaking sight for Matthew, who had only seen the happy, lazy bear; content in his arms, begging for food, and talking to him when the Canadian felt lonely, _listening_ to him when he needed it.

He took in a shuddering breath, fingers threading through the thick pelt as he bent at the waist to touch his forehead with the knotted fur. Tears fell, and it occurred to Matthew that he had cried into Kumajirou's side often through their times together, yet he couldn't recall a time he'd cried _for_ the animal.

A hand touched his shoulder and he whimpered,feeling a warm chest at his back and a strong arm around his waist. He didn't turn away from Kumajirou, his focus never wavered, even as he closed his eyes and continued to cry beside his best friend.

However, he took comfort in the warmth of Russia at his back. It kept him grounded especially while he felt so vulnerable.

"He's going to be alright, Canada."

He nodded, unable to speak through the tight throat that wanted to unleash sob after sob. He remained as silent as possible but the Nations behind him knew…

He couldn't- and didn't even attempt to hide the onslaught of tears.

"Who?"

It was only because the voice was so close to his ear that Matthew even heard it. The sound was unmistakable; a light tone with a slight hint of guttural vocals that suggested the speaker was not human. A respiratory tube further muffled the question asked, but Canada was so used to it- that question was an inner joke between them, and Matthew would never be so happy to have someone ask it.

"C-Can-Canada," he stuttered through his tears, barely lifting his head to see the bear's face. A black eye opened just enough to regard him with such relief and witty humor- and although Matthew was still crying, a chuckle left his mouth. "Kumajiki."

"I want… pancakes," the bear mumbled. "When we get home."

Canada nodded. "Okay."

"With maple."

"All the maple you want, Kumajirou."

"And… you won't leave the house. Ever."

Matthew outright laughed at that, a hand lovingly stroking the polar bear's ear. "Yes sir." Kumajirou seemed to smile at the attention- and the words of the Canadian just seemed to soothe him back to the edge of consciousness.

Matthew noticed, carefully bending down to kiss the bear on his muzzle. "Go back to sleep. Everything is alright now."

…oOo…

"The awesome has returned!"

Matthew looked up from his seat beside Kumajirou, lovingly stroking the bear's side and ears, watching over the animal as he slept peacefully. His tears had stopped soon after he was convinced of his friend's improving health and he leaned against the side of the truck; Ivan had found a large fleece blanket to wrap him in and America hadn't left his side since.

Alfred talked about anything and everything to keep Matthew from "becoming desolate and lonely" – mostly to try and cheer his brother up as much as possible. Matthew had to admit, it helped take his mind off of things, even if their conversations went down some strange roads…

Everything from a robotic apocalypse, to the episodes of Doctor Who.

Russia had eventually disappeared in order to talk to the soldiers awaiting orders, and then a team was dispatched- a whole meeting between the nations and the second in command occurred in the back of the truck… Things went by quickly and yet, for Matthew, it was all a blur.

Ivan had told him nothing needed to be revealed to anyone- within their meeting, Canada had every right to remain silent. As if this were court and he was on trial- Ivan his ever present attorney buffeting the Canadian from every curious question thrown his way.

"_What happened to you?"_

"_Did he touch you?"_

"_Let's treat your wounds."_

It made him uncomfortable, and he didn't want to answer; he wouldn't have told anyone if he could have gotten away with it, the mere fact that Ivan knew was humiliating enough. A Nation should never be degraded in such a way- as long as he was alive, the others need not know what transpired between him and Dmitri.

He was glad the rest of his family seemed to understand after the avoidance. Even though they didn't look happy about the secrets, it was a silent agreement to respect his decision.

The makeshift camp turned quiet, Russia speaking into the military issued radio to give orders or to answer questions was the only interruption. Germany and Belarus hovering nearby and the rest of Matthew's family collected on either side, silently guarding him.

That relatively thick atmosphere broke with a loud, familiar voice. To tell the truth, Matthew hadn't noticed the man was missing, but he definitely recognized the brown boxes he held up victoriously with a wide grin on his face.

"The awesome me brought pizza."

"Took you long enough, you hoser," Arthur growled.

"Yeah, we're all starving, you know!" Alfred griped.

At the mention of food, Canada's eyes snapped up to meet the Prussian's light reds, widening with sudden surprise and desire. Sure enough, the albino had a rectangular box of _pizza_ held up in his hands.

"Food? Je t'aime," he said in a soft desperate tone of gratification.

Prussia laughed. "I know, Birdie. Of course you do, I am, after all, pure awesome-incarnate."

Russia rolled his eyes, frowning at the stupid feeling of jealously crawling up his throat as he watched Prussia embrace Matthew tenderly, ruffling the blond hair and earning a grin in return.

"You okay, kid?"

"O-oui, thank you, Gilbert."

"No problem. The awesome me is here to protect you now."

Ivan snorted in contempt- like hell Gilbert, who wasn't even a Nation, could protect Matthew to the best of his capabilities. He didn't even have a military!

Belarus sent him a strange look.

He knew it was silly to be hurt (yes, he felt hurt, like he was dealt a physical blow) over things said familiarly between friends. Matthew expressed love over the food brought to him, hugged the man because they had known each other for a long while, smiled at him because they were _friends._

However, Ivan did not forget the admission of a tiny secret Matthew had hidden away. A while back ago, during a little card game (so much had changed since then…), Matthew had told of his harboring a crush for the Prussian.

It was not out of the question that he still harbored such feelings for the man.

_How could I forget that? _He chided himself, looking off to the side, feeling a sense of guilt and disappointment- _This is what happens when you get your selfish hopes up._

And yet, he licked his dry lips thoughtfully, reminiscing the taste of Matthew.

Matthew had kissed _him_. Not Gilbert…

Canada held out his hands for the pizza, "Sure, whatever. Give it."

"Hey! I deserve a thank you, right? Just say I'm the best, most awesome person here, and you'll let me invade your vital regions-"

Russia growled- how uncouth! "Gilbert! Shut up! Nobody is letting you invade with your five inches-"

"Meters, man, five _meters_."

Ivan looked at him with an irritated expression. "You are hardly the biggest one here; do you think it is wise to _brag_ about it?"

America choked back a laugh. "You remember the condoms you sent me during the Cold War?"

Ivan's frustrated growl turned into a groan. "Da, your super small-"

"How the bloody hell did we start talking about _that_?"

"Prusse's five meters?" France supplied.

Canada's low chuckles grew louder.

Arthur looked up thoughtfully. "Frog, it is _la Prusse_, right?" Francis blinked in surprise- to hear any kind of French from the Englishman was a rarity. He nodded hesitantly. "The _la_ is feminine, so the Nation of Prussia is considered female. Thus, Prussia shouldn't have a '_five meters' _at all."

England glanced at Gilbert with a cheeky smirk.

"I do so have five meters! You assholes, I'll prove it-" He stood up, hands going to his pants.

Germany, who had been sitting on the sideline, cheeks glowing with a bright pink, practically turned red with a horrified, embarrassed look. "Bruder, no!" He leapt up, tackling the Eastern part of him and wrestling the albino to the truck bed, saving his dignity.

"Oh, come on West! Nothing they hadn't seen before!"

"You're crazy!"

Ivan moved his booted foot so it was not caught up in the tangled mess of German limbs. He watched on with amusement, expression lightening as he observed the Prussian he disliked so much restrained. Such a pathetic position looked good on the albino.

He also got a good feeling from the echoing laugh beside him- Canada giggled madly, leaning over, hair just brushing against Ivan's shoulder.

For once, the atmosphere within the truck was light, the troubles of their situation forgotten.

Until the radio in Ivan's hand went off with a static.

"_Mr. Braginski. We think we've got a lead. A nurse we questioned said she saw the two men fitting the description. They should be on the way to the docks now. We have it monitored."_

"_I'm on my way,_" Ivan said.

Matthew watched him stand, a frown crossing his lips. "What's going on?"

Russia gave a cruel smile, shouldering his rifle. "I'm going after Dmitri, da?"

"O-oh… be careful, eh?"

Prussia scrambled out from beneath his brother, shoving the blond away with a laugh at how messed up his hair was after their tussle (Gilbert made sure to ruin that nice combed-back look the German liked so much). "We'll come with you, yeah?"

Ivan shook his head. "Stay here to operate the radio. I'll keep in contact."

_So Ivan was going alone?_ Matthew's frown deepened. He didn't like that one bit- but America, France, and England would stay for his sake, and Belarus (he was surprised to see) stayed where she was as well.

He had a bad feeling.

Kumajirou's head lifted slightly, pushing against his limp hand in a quest of attention. Canada gave him a smile, assuring the bear he was still fine, just worried, and he scratched behind the fluffy ear.

…Thank You…

It's time to get this out, even if I'm not 100% sure about the flow or the length. I always either overestimate or underestimate how long it will take to end a particular saga (like Part I and II). So I'm weary of putting too much into a chapter and making it too powerful for the rest, or finding out I need to pack everything into a few chapters at the end. :P

This chapter will be dedicated to a reunion I suppose, which I actually had trouble getting out there. Everyone wanted something, as always- the FACE family wanted the whole "over-protective" thing going on. Prussia wanted to butt in and tease everyone and Ivan and Matthew wanted to share flirtatious glances over the table like teenagers.

Germany and Belarus are just… there. Because they're above everyone else's immature drama. Go them.

Anyway, hope you all liked it! We did an awesome job with the DA contest, I imagine the drabbles they've requested will come out soon. Give me a while. I don't have much time to write. Life is ass-raping my yaoi schedule.

_Translations_:

Нет (Russian): No

Merci beaucoup (French): Thank you very much

Mon chérie (French) My dear

Oùes-tu blesse?(French) Where are you hurt?

Parlez-moi(French) Talk to me

Çava(French) I'm fine

Gern Geschehen (German) You're welcome

Je t'aime (French) I love you


	36. Оранжевы: Orange

Chapter 36: Оранжевый: Orange

"You're directing attention to yourself, Alec. Straighten up," Dmitri stated. His voice was rather calm even as he pressed himself back against the masonry, glancing around the building's corner to watch the soldier standing guard at an intersection.

There had been frequent posts at heavier traffic points; cars were stopped along checkpoints, pedestrians were questioned for information on the wanted criminals they searched for. Magadan's police force was cooperating with the soldiers to set better blockades along the exits of the city, and they definitely were thorough in their search.

They had been skirting around the entire damn city like this- running and ducking behind cars and buildings, trying to stay out of the open. No doubt Matthew had given a description of Dmitri already, and Alec's face was known. Hijacking a car or continuing on foot wouldn't serve them any better; a vehicle _would_ be faster but not necessarily stealthier.

Dmitri and Alec knew they didn't have much time left before an entire lock-down was put into effect, and it seemed like the soldiers were slowly closing in on them despite their rush to get to the docks seen in the distance.

Mihailov didn't know _how_ they were going to get passage onto a boat with this kind of security, but Alec seemed to know what to do, even with his deteriorating health.

It was too bad the pain medicine was wearing off. Alec felt weak, his sense of balance was off, and a loss of blood made him pale and dizzy. He could hardly move his right side without the white hot sparks of intense pain. Dmitri had, for the second time, braced the man from falling like a fool, grumbling out an insult as he did so.

And no matter the Russian's state, Alec was still able to carry that attitude; "Sorry," he replied sarcastically. "If I could just stop the fact that I got shot, I'd be more willing to play along."

Dmitri sighed. "Yeah, well, if you hold me back, I'm leaving you."

Alec snorted, collapsing into the hard masonry and letting it hold him steady. "Like you can get back on your own."

"I can too!" Dmitri hissed.

A fine eyebrow raised in question. "My bad, I didn't know you were so familiar with the streets. Tell me, what are you going to do when you get on that boat? Go tanning on the top deck?" He laughed weakly. "Nah, either you hide in a crate and suffer the long twelve hours it'll take to ship you down to Japan… or you haggle with the captain. Give him your watch and he'll probably let you steer the boat too."

"This watch was my father's; I'm not giving it to a dirty sailor!"

"Hiding in a crate it is then…"

"What if I told you I could drive a small boat?" Dmitri asked snappishly.

"Can you?" Alec replied with a doubtful tone.

"Yes, I did inherit a yacht from my father. It's back in Sochi, but I've traveled there once or twice-"

"Can you actually sail, or did you get someone else to?"

"You'll find out when we get there," he scoffed, looking back around the corner to see that the soldier patrolling the streets had moved on. "Let's go."

Dmitri slipped around the building, head darting back and forth to make sure he was still clear. Alec followed shakily, not even bothering to duck down in a better attempt to sneak. In fact, he kind of chuckled at the way Dmitri walked, finding it hilarious that he would try so hard. It only made him look suspicious. "Why are you so terrified anyway?"

"Why- seriously? You ask me _why_- unless you don't recall, we're wanted by the entire Russian army! The American, and German too!"

Alec frowned. "How do you know you're wanted in America and Germany?"

"Because I saw them at the hospital."

The Russian behind him trailed in silence, following calmly, with a little stagger as Dmitri darted across the street quickly, trailing behind a small collection of pedestrians- a better attempt at blending in with the crowd. "I don't understand."

Dmitri gritted his teeth, turning around to glare at his partner. "You don't need to, don't question me now when you've never done so before."

"Well, our deal is over now," Alec reminded the man. "I don't have to go any further with you, D. In fact, I'm starting to think I'd be better off finding my own way back to Moscow- especially as you think you can handle getting back on your own."

Dmitri's entire form paused in the next step forward, and with a hesitant spin, turned his golden glare onto Alec. "You were going with me to Moscow- that's where your money is."

"Da, but I don't have to go _with_ you, so long as I _get _there. You have a lot of heat on you right now-"

"So do you! You think they don't know your face?" Dmitri snarled.

Alec shrugged one shoulder. "We'd have better chances if we split. If you can drive a ship, go get one, I'm fine finding my own way."

Dmitri regarded him coldly, observing the slumped form, the bloody hand that held his half-assed bandaged shoulder. They hadn't necessarily seen a doctor when they were at the hospital. There were too many military officials, and after they ran into an American and two Germans… Dmitri's paranoia would not let them remain for very long. He recognized those faces- he knew who and what they were.

A strong dose of (stolen) medication later, and Dmitri was anxiously dragging a dazed Alec behind him. Now that he looked at the man more clearly however… he was starting to doubt his plan.

Alec _was_ his right hand man- a body guard- but as wounded as he was, he would be no good in a fight. The next thing he was good for: information and experience on the streets- might not be worth having if he continued to attract attention with his injury. He was confident he could sneak onto a boat by himself- how hard could that be? And… if he couldn't find a simple boat he could operate on his own, he _would_ sell his priceless watch, though he could sense is father roll in his grave for the disrespect.

He could do this on his own…

It was just… despite all of that…

Alec waited for a reply, and when it didn't come he frowned.

Brown eyes narrowed, not just from pain or irritation, but in an intense observation of something he wasn't sure he liked. Dmitri was not just paranoid, he was nervous, fidgeting in his place, golden eyes rather wide as he glanced around him. Alec knew the Russian particularly well enough to see the out-of-character way he hesitated.

Alec spoke wisely, the suggestion of parting ways was the best option, and the one that would insure a better survival rate- Dmitri was stubbornly refusing to see reason…

He huffed in amusement. "D, you aren't scared are you? I guess all that bullshit about dying honorably-"

"I'm not afraid of _that_! I just wanted… I wanted that book in a reporter's hand before I died, damn it. All of this is particularly shady. I'm not exactly familiar with-"

"Being a little insecure without your precious money and bodyguards, right?" Shaking his head, Alec sighed, leaning against the wall heavily. "Don't you have another copy somewhere- a plan B? Come on, D, that's not like you."

"I do," Dmitri replied flatly. His gaze watched Alec's face with a certain determination that confused Alec. "In the vault that contains your money…"

A scoff of annoyance. "Naturally."

"I want you to give it to Peter when you get back to Moscow-"

"No way, Dmitri-"

"Alec!" he hissed. "Do it."

The man looked away with a scowl, but no further protest came forth- it was too exhausting to argue with Dmitri as he was and Alec decided to take this request as the wish of a dying man. Either of them, or both, could die this day, and if that was so, then he might as well let the disagreement rest.

It certainly didn't help that Dmitri was seconds away from saying a single dreaded word that started with a _p_ (please). As much as Alec would tease his boss, begging was just a step below pathetic, and it was not like he had anything left to lose.

"Fine. I'll take your stupid book."

Dmitri's shoulders sagged in relief. "Good."

"In return though, you better get that money where it belongs, if I can't."

"Yes."

There was a moment of awkward silence between them then, Dmitri frowning in thought, Alec resting to regain his energy.

Once the money he had earned from this job was delivered to its intended owner, Alec really had nothing else to do with his life to tell the truth. With his life-goal fulfilled, he wouldn't protest to helping Dmitri with his.

On a more sensitive note, Dmitri was all he had known personally for the better part of his dark life. While the man may have gotten on his nerves greatly during his employment, Alec couldn't help but _like_ the man on some messed up level- simply because he was a constant. Always there, always annoying, always needing _something_.

He felt needed, and for a lonely street rat that was a nice, comforting thought. Dmitri never treated him like a charity case, never pitied him, expected the best from him, and didn't bother to hold anything back.

"Thank you," Dmitri said.

Alec's eyes darted up to the brunette's face, surprise and confusion clear in his expression at the statement.

"You really did help me. With my father's past, and my future. So, good luck to you and your sister."

"Y-yeah. You too."

The Russian had turned away by then, chin high, back straight, as if he didn't care that his words of appreciation were heard or even returned. And Alec had to grin, because no matter the situation, the position of nobility, or their relationship towards each other- he knew Dmitri was no longer as hopelessly lost as he had been, and Alec was not as lonely.

_Like babysitting_, Alec affirmed to himself, and he realized he was going to- if only a little- miss his former boss.

…oOo…

Matthew's head peeked out from the tarp covering the back of the jeep, one hand behind him waved away Alfred's suggestion of staying inside the vehicle and within sight at all times.

Russia had commanded the best of his crew to remain behind and protect the injured Canadian and his polar bear. Although, with six representative Nations, hardly any would be needed, and Matthew told Ivan such- had practically ordered the Russian to take at least half of those men with _him_ instead. That had at least worked, but Matthew was not satisfied. A part of him worried relentlessly, and in the past hour and a half that Russia had been gone, that anxious feeling had only multiplied.

He found those two soldiers just a few yards away, speaking to a rather beautiful woman in respectful tones as she asked questions. "B-belarus," Matthew called out softly. The conversation halted as Natalia looked at him, a frown crossing her lips. "May I speak to you for a m-moment?"

Canada bent down, preparing to slide over the tailgate to the snowy ground below. However, the two Russian men were quick in their rush to his side, offering assistance which Matthew hesitantly took. The snow would be rather cold, but he had been given boots and a large black insulated coat to wear as well.

With both soldiers' strength, Canada was smoothly and gently set onto the ground, his balance assured before they released him. The care they showed surprised Matthew, and he smiled at them, giving out a "Thank you" in Russian for their trouble - their help was unnecessary but appreciated nonetheless and they practically beamed at the attention.

Russia must have really emphasized on the importance of his health and happiness…

"What do you want?" Natalia's emotionless voice broke the somewhat friendly atmosphere, and Matthew remembered what he had come out there for.

Stepping past the two Russian's, Canada cleared his throat awkwardly, unknowing where to begin. "Um… T-thank you." Light violets shyly met a dark blue. "For helping Kuma-"

"You already thanked me," Natalia interrupted.

"Well, I w-wanted to do it again." Matthew shrugged, casting his gaze back to the trampled snow beneath his feet. "Why didn't you go with Russia?"

"Vanya did not wish for me to come, he can take care of this himself."

Matthew frowned. "Dmitri should not be underestimated."

"He is a simple human. You can't possibly believe Ivan would lose to such a thing!" Natalia sneered, insulted by the idea. Her brother was a super-power and her confidence in his strength would not allow even a hint of doubt to sneak within her realm of possibilities.

That's not to say Matthew was unconfident- he knew Ivan was strong; had admired that very strength for many years. Russia was a powerful and experienced Nation no mortal _human_ should be able to beat- the idea was laughable. However, Dmitri's state of being was not what worried Matthew so.

"Ivan would not lose, but… that's not Dmitri's goal. He knows things he shouldn't, Natalia." Canada shoved his hands into his pocket, nervous about the way Belarus glared at him. "Please, I'm worried about him-"

"What do you propose to do? Go after him?"

"… oui."

Natalia's dark eyes stared intently at him for a good minute- assessing his hunched form, the eyes that would bravely meet hers before wondering anxiously to his surroundings. "Your relatives will not allow this."

Canada shrugged. "I can take care of myself. It's Kumakun I worry about."

"Indeed." Natalia let out a scoff of annoyance. "You've proven your strength so far," she growled sarcastically.

"Look, I asked for your help because I know how much you care for Ivan." Matthew stated, his voice now holding an edge of anger to it. The stuttering fell away like it hadn't been there at all, and his nervous fidgeting halted in its tracks. Those violet eyes narrowed on her face, his back straightening with importance. "I won't go into how unhealthy that obsession is, but I know you'd do anything to keep him safe. I'm telling you, letting him go after Dmitri alone was a bad idea."

"Vanya will be angry with our interference-"

"Then never mind," Matthew snapped. "I'll go myself; just give me the keys to a vehicle."

He held his hand out for the said keys, a slight glare on his face- it was a look full of determination and suggested, obviously, that Canada would do this with or without Belarus' assistance.

He did not fear Ivan's anger at going against his wishes, she realized, and wondered if that was foolish. However, his reasons for carrying out such disobedience were far more troubling; he would sneak off, _in his condition_, to protect Russia.

If something bad happened to Canada, Natalia knew her brother would be hurt even more so. His wandering off alone should be prevented at all costs; if he would stubbornly insist on going after Ivan, she would not be able to stop him.

With a small, almost unheard sigh of agitation, she retrieved a set of keys from her thick coat. Taking the military jeep was one option, but Canada's family residing in the back would never allow him to leave the safety of the hotel parking lot. Another option was to take Natalia's Rolls Royce, small enough to be inconspicuous without the glaringly obvious military relation to its presence.

"Вы двое!" The two Russian men on guard stood at attention for the woman. "Пошли." Then she turned on her heel, and Matthew hesitantly began to follow, seeing the soldiers behind him do the same.

A small smile crossed his lips as he marched through the snow next to Natalia. "Thank you."

She hummed uncaringly. "Do you have a plan, or are you so stupid as to run off without one?"

He wasn't even offended by that, grinning at her as he walked around the shiny black vehicle to the passenger side. "I'm not like my brother, you know." He slid into the leather seat slowly, still aching, but rather pleased at the rapid rate of his healing. Now that his body could properly move and function, it seemed that all his strengths and abilities finally returned in full force.

He could feel Kumajirou's rising health as well, and that, above all else, relieved him the most. The polar bear would be recovering for a long while, and he surely needed to be watched over carefully, but Matthew could feel the difficulty in breathing ease.

Belarus slipped into the driver's seat gracefully. She looked very strange at the wheel of the luxurious car. Matthew had the feeling she didn't drive very often, and she had to adjust the seat and mirrors to better suit her height.

"Do tell me this plan then," she stated coldly, glancing to Canada expectantly. The Russian boys climbed into the back, speaking excitedly as they looked around the interior.

"Dmitri said something about a death camp around here; his fascination with it was disgusting. That's also near the piers, right?"

"Yes, it is," she murmured.

"Then let's start there."

Just as the ignition began to purr to life, the soldiers in the backseat pointed out the window, calling something out. In the next second Canada's door was flung open and a foreboding aura filled the vehicle as Matthew hesitantly looked up.

Cool blue eyes regarded them with a startlingly blank expression and all Canada could think was: _busted_.

The blond opened his mouth, ready to protest, give an explanation, or plead the American to see reason- but a hand held up firmly, cutting the words off before they even began and Matthew felt like a kid being scolded. "Yeah, don't even," America stated. "Get out of the car."

Canada frowned, glancing around his seat; maybe looking for an appropriate response. He knew what he had to do, and he could not let Alfred stop him, but what could he say? How could he make him understand?

"You idiot!" Matthew's gaze snapped back up, past America's form to see England marching through the snow towards the car, looking livid. It took another moment for Canada to realize those words had been directed to him… "What part of _stay here_ do you not understand?"

France, who was trailing behind the Brit, fretted in concern; "Arthur, don't yell at him, I'm sure there is a reason for this, oui? Mon petit Mathieu is not so reckless."

"Yes he is! Obviously!" Arthur snapped back, but a second later, as he arrived next to the American and closer to Canada, the red tint of rage in his cheeks receded. His voice was still stern and angry, but Canada knew England was only worried, not really _mad_. "Get out of the car now, lad. It is better to rest, you're still recovering."

"N-non," Matthew replied. It was a little difficult to deny his family when all three of them stood there so protectively.

"Yes," Alfred growled back. "Before I drag your ass out."

"Alfred-"

"_No_. You have got to be insane if you think I'm letting you out of my sight again. "

"Please, something's not right, Ivan could be in trouble."

Alfred leaned in, those expressive blue eyes shining like gems- filled to the brim with determination, worry, frustration, anger, and a sense of sadness. They focused intently on Matthew's face and Canada swallowed thickly, anxious at the attention. "I don't give a shit whether Russia is in trouble," he told Matthew flatly- harsh truth and cold fact. "You're my little brother- way more important than _him_."

Canada paused, heart leaping in his throat as he processed that sentence- that word; _important_. Dieu, how long had it been since someone had told him that? Well, technically Ivan had said it back in the hotel- so twice in one day! That was… shocking to say the least.

"America is right, Matthew. Russia can take care of himself,_ you_ are the priority," England affirmed.

"Oui," France piped up.

Canada's eyes widened, looking back and forth between the Nations there. Astounding... He didn't know if he was going to cry from the sudden relief of finally hearing those words or get all sappy and hug the three men (really, he shouldn't be such a baby about this kind of thing- he'd always _known_ they cared about him).

He decided to stave off on the tears, but hugging? He couldn't stop that.

America stumbled back (more out of surprise than anything) and reflexively caught his brother to keep him steady. With his arms wrapped around his middle and face buried in his chest, half of his body remaining in the car still, and it looked rather uncomfortable. "Uh, Matt?"

"Thank you," the blond mumbled into the faded blue T-shirt America wore. It had a musky smell, a hint of cologne and spice; Canada had forgotten how warm his brother was too. Like a miniature heater- and he recalled the times they slept together as children; the way Alfred would always chase away the cold of winter. The times when they both would crawl into their "parents'" beds, and Matthew would be surrounded in warmth and happiness, even when times grew difficult between them.

There were times his brother acted like the most obnoxious, ignorant fool in the world. America wanted to be involved in everything, the center of attention and love; his views on how to solve all the problems in the world were warped, but he tried. Nobody could say otherwise, but if you did, they would be surprised to find he was just as scary as a snapped Russia when angered.

Arthur might just have been the most controlling and hypocritical Empire there ever was (though many would refute that), he was difficult to read and work with. His views were strong and he was stubborn and determined in keeping the old traditional ways of doing things. Quick to anger, with a fierce way of paying back what he felt was due, and a scathing tongue that would make you feel as small as a immature child when he was done with you.

Francis was the most aggravating instigator of many arguments and battles. From his bright fashionable clothing to the teasing wink he threw to any woman he felt deserved it (almost all). He was beyond shallow regarding looks and relationships, emotional and dramatic, without a hint of shame towards his actions. So many times had he meddled in a way that simply caused others trouble (different from America's involvement- this almost seemed _intentional_).

And despite the way Matthew looked to have endless patience and an understanding, forgiving nature- it wasn't true. He could get impatient with his brother's antics, angry at England's lectures, and annoyed with France's flare. However, he knew everyone had flaws- him included of course.

Sometimes he would forget about just _why_ he loved his family so much.

America was so determined and protective at times, forgiving Matthew for his harsh words whenever he snapped, fighting to get him back just as much as Ivan had, and then watching him like a hawk to be sure he came to no more harm.

That's what a Hero did- that was his big brother.

Arthur and Francis _worried_, and they gave everything they could to contribute in his return. Arthur as the stern voice of reason, and that spiteful nature directed at the enemy came with surprisingly smart and effective ways of hindering Mihailov's escape, thanks to France's inspirational ideas.

Alfred frowned from above, rubbing a hand up and down Canada's back for comfort, bending over to see if Matthew was _crying_, because he couldn't tell- Canada hardly ever cried, but when he did it wasn't loud but eerily silent. "H-hey, bro?"

Imagine America's confusion when Matthew tilted his head up to show one of the brightest smiles he'd seen in a while. "I'm fine, Al. You just… you all made me extremely happy." Blue eyes continued to look confused- _what did he do?_ But a hesitant smile crossed Alfred's face anyway, because so long as Matthew _was_ happy, he didn't care how it was achieved. "Russia makes me happy too."

Canada's grin widened as Alfred pulled another expression- this one of distaste; America was _so_ entertaining to read with all his emotions and reactions over-dramatized. "Ew. That sounded totally wrong."

"But it is true, frère-"

"What is this, a declaration of love or something?" America asked, eyes widening at the very thought, and his voice pitching. "You do know Belarus is sitting in the car, _right behind you_, with that scary 'rape-you' face on, right?"

An indignant gasp answered him, "How dare you-"

Canada released his brother (much to Alfred's dislike), sitting up and raising his hands to stop an argument. He looked about ready to laugh, even though he tried to scold his brother for saying such rude things. "Look, what I was trying to say is; I've come to care about Ivan a lot, and I know he needs support right now. That's why I'm going."

Alfred sighed, looking away from the pure amethysts. "You can't go," he said, but it was a weak statement.

"I _am_ going," Matthew replied, as if it were a fact. He turned to look at the rest of his family; imploring them to understand him. "But you could come with me."

America groaned. "Why do you have to make it complicated?"

"You should not be doing this, Matthew…"

"Oui, it is dangerous…"

Before Canada could open his mouth to continue his protest, America stood back, shutting Matthew's door with a forceful slam that rocked the entire vehicle. "He's not a kid, he knows what he's doing," he stated, and with the dramatics of an unhappy teenager, he pushed Arthur and Francis away, opening the back door.

"I'll bring him back in one piece guys; you keep an eye on the bear and Prussia." America smiled at the two Nations left outside as the two soldiers already inside the car scooted to the side to make room for him. "Stay here for backup."

"We're not your bloody backup!"

The door shut, Alfred leaned over to the driver's seat, tapping Belarus on the shoulder, ignorant of the deep glare she sent him. "Okay, let's go save the stupid commie."

Matthew's bright smile was back and he glanced to Belarus proudly as he pulled the seatbelt over his shoulder. "Thanks, Al."

"Yeah, whatever, but I think you got confused with who is supposed to be the hero here, bro."

"Don't worry, Alfred, you can be my backup," Canada chuckled.

…oOo…

Heavy boots made deep echoing thumps with every step and Ivan's weight shifted the entire boat as he boarded the wooden structure tied to the dock. It was a small fisherman's ship, barely thirty feet across. The treated wood creaked under him, years of braving the sea aged and weakened the boat, but it still held. It probably had a good decade left in its life.

With the way Ivan navigated the ship, it was obvious he'd been familiar with such vessels- he'd done his fair share of fishing at some points in time; and while he'd never 'ruled the seas' like Great Britain had, he was very knowledgeable all the same.

A rapid argument back on the docks was ignored- the owner of the ship did not like the brash invasion of his privacy, and had first refused Ivan's passage on his boat to look for a 'fugitive.' However, with all due respect to his wishes, Ivan would not be denied. If anyone tried to take the complaint to court, they'd find all protest would be over-ruled. The police and military officials should be enough of a clue to the situation's priority over private matters anyway.

If there was one thing Ivan was coming to realize, it was that this could be the absolute worst place to have a national incident. Not only were individual civilians complaining about their property being over-taken, but many commercial shipments came through here as well. Things were constantly being unloaded and reloaded, people were everywhere, and nobody was in a very good mood to have the cops tell them they were stuck at port until further notice.

The wind was biting, the chill worse than usual, and ice had formed on the decking, making everything slick and dangerous. Huge Ice-Breakers were at work clearing a way out of the gulf and Ivan wished he could tell them to quit it- if there was no way out of here, then ships would have no way to leave!

Above all, he wished they had more time- already he had made calls to the naval base in Vladivostok, attempting to urge the captains there to allow a quick dispatch to Magadan. Closing down the area and keeping the ships at the dock would cut off any chance of Dmitri escaping on one of them.

They were farther away than he had hoped for though, and while an intimidating Destroyer on the horizon would be nice, it would take an hour at the most for them to arrive. Ships were leaving port every ten minutes and even with the combined efforts of the police and their own patrol vessels, there still were not enough people to properly hold and monitor all the deports.

Which meant Ivan's group was spread thin. While he searched the bowels of the ship's small cargo, the two ships on either side of it were undergoing similar treatments. No crate, barrel, or bin was left unchecked. If it was not nailed shut beyond needing a simple crowbar to lift open, it was inspected. Although, little nails didn't stop Ivan; he pried the sturdy storage containers open with a ruthless, angry flare.

Not a single space was left unseen. He checked the sleeping quarters, engine room, navigation, and kitchen. There were not many places to hide on a ship this small; tools and equipment were everywhere and the only storage to be found contained rotten fish and bait for the upcoming trip the owner was about to make.

Still, with every fruitless quest, his frustration and anxiety grew.

He tossed aside a neat pile of thick, nylon woven rope to reveal the last dark corner in the little dinning/seating area- he found it empty of any living person. Spinning on his heel, he returned to the deck, looking across the rolls of netting and empty cages. There was nowhere to hide among them, but he leaned over the railing to get a better look anyway.

Unsurprisingly, nothing was there except the clear cold water slapping against chipped green paint, little blocks of ice churned within the murky waves, only enunciating how cold it must be. Ivan cursed lowly, looking across to the next ship, a soldier of his exited the cabin and their eyes caught. "_Nothing here, sir_."

"Da." Russia's gaze continued past to the far end of the harbor where a chain link fence separated the port from the dark forms of buildings in the distance. Amaranthine eyes narrowed on the distant structures, feeling a more dreadful emotion claw at his chest.

For some reason, he knew Dmitri would go there. And no matter how disgusted he was with the prospect of visiting an old death camp, he had to catch him… That offending _human_ who dared to touch Matthew the way he had. For Canada, he sucked in a deep breath, bottling those weak frightening feelings he had about the past and locking them away.

His heavy boots once again led him with long, confident strides, off the boat and back to solid ground, catching up to the soldier who had finished his search of the ship next to his. He patted the man's shoulder, gaining his attention easily. "_Keep searching; hold back all the ships you can until we can properly close the harbor. I'm going to search the other side._"

With a hasty salute, the man hurriedly continued to the next boat, and Ivan watched him go for a second, appreciative of the quick and obedient reaction. Another little band of military officials passed him, yelling out halts to a small yacht about to leave the area, they succeeded and climbed aboard the ship with an intent purpose of a thorough examination.

He lifted his rifle to better settle on his shoulder, turning to distant buildings across the harbor, a scowl on his face. Getting to the other side of the port would take someone of his stature a mere ten minutes, considering his long legs and quick strides. However, there were so many people between them; many carrying luggage or equipment, carts and forklifts. Many of them were yelling in anger or impatience as the ships postponed their departure, creating a back-up of customers just milling about confusedly.

Ivan was forced to slow down and push through the crowd (literally in some cases), thanking the higher powers that he was so tall, and absolutely hating the position they were all in. So many of his people in one place, his goal so far away, the enemy so unpredictable...

By the time he pushed through the last of the civilians, he was anxious and paranoid of every movement. He broke out into a jog, weaving around the few stragglers still in his way. The closer he came to the old chain-link fence, the less people stood in his way, as if they all would rather keep as far from the haunted property as possible.

Ivan stopped a few yards from the perimeter, looking around him. His instincts brought him here, but beyond the general direction he felt Dmitri would be in, he didn't know where to look. If Dmitri was going to leave by stowing away on a ship, he would not find any in the deserted death camp. They would all be behind him, ready to depart soon, with enough equipment and distraction that he would hopefully never be noticed, and have plenty of places to hide.

What other options were there? _What was he doing_?

"This is ridiculous," he growled underneath his breath. "Why would he go in there if his first priority is getting out of the Country?" He turned, looking back at the closest boat under attention of merchants. Perhaps he should just look after those-

A clacking of light metal caught his attention, and he was once more brought back to the dilapidated buildings behind him. The rusted metal fence seemed to tremor under some kind of force, bending slightly as the stakes in the ground lost their stability over the years. He followed the barrier to the right, closer to the city of Magadan, frowning at a darkened figure in the distance that caused the disturbance.

He was climbing over it.

Why? A teenage kid perhaps? The stone walls of the death camp fortress was covered in spray paint from vandalism, and such an abandoned place made it perfect for hangouts (if the kids were not afraid of the creepy atmosphere). He doubted it though- the figure jumped down, landing clumsily, standing to wipe away the dirt from his shirt. Then he looked around suspiciously, and Ivan could see his hair glint brown in the light.

"_He wears a lot of dark colors, or a white shirt- but they're usually long sleeved dressy clothes. He has dark brown hair combed back, kind of like Germany's but not gelled. And... gold eyes. Not the hazel that's common, but _gold_."_ Canada's voice echoed.

Ivan was too far away to see the man's eyes (still couldn't decipher whether it was a man or a boy, but he could guess that no ruffian teenager would worry about the dirt on his clothes). Long sleeved dark shirt, black pants...

The figure began to run, not in too much of a hurry, but just enough to be suspecting, to the first of the buildings, disappearing from sight.

Russia did not like that.

With his mind decided for him, he returned to the fence, pulling himself up and over the simple guard, landing gracefully with a mere grunt as his injuries pulled. He took his rifle in hand, holding it comfortably in one arm, stalking across the snowy ground to the nearby building,

...oOo...

"Stop!"

Belarus slowed the Rolls Royce to a complete stop, turning quizzically to the Canadian in the seat next to her. "What is it?" The beginning of the docks were just ahead; she'd have to park the vehicle on the side of the road, as there was no way to take it any closer.

"I think..." Matthew leaned closer to the glass, his forehead almost pressed against it. There were so many people around it was hard to tell what had him so transfixed. "Alec," he whispered.

And then he shoved the door open, tearing out of the car with such speed Natalia would have missed it had she blinked. His simple answer, a name, loud in her head; _Alec_ _Zaytsev_.

"Matt!" America called afterward, scrambling to follow his brother out of the car. The soldiers beside him opening the other door.

Belarus stuttered for a moment, caught between telling them all to 'slow down' and 'wait for me' as she put the car in park, taking the keys from the ignition and climbing out after them. Her dress billowed around her in the wind but she didn't care, running after the four men hastily. "Wait! Don't shoot him!"

...Thank You...

FINALLY! Right? XD I've taken way too long with this, but I told ya'll, I had some serious time-eating stuff ahead of me. I had hoped to finish this story before this semester, but I was not fast enough. :( Yeah, for those of you who are not in the Giving In Group, you may have just thought I was dead. Actually, there were some IN the GIG who thought I was anyway.

Nope! I just have two jobs that take up 7 days of the week and I still go to college... And I'm still not getting enough money. DX

But I'm sorry for the late chapter. And I thank everyone for hanging in there for me. I will never give this up, I can't- I've come so far and the end is so close! So even if I get swamped by work, I will always try to find time to write. You readers keep my spirits up about it too! So thank you!

By the way, since I usually answer reviews _at the end_ of the time I update (cause I'm weird like that, I like replying to reviews and it'll keep me inspired thinking the readers are waiting for me, I can't disappoi- some shit like that) Anyway! Some of you new readers! I thank you and love you :)

KitsuneDango, Kenzie-onee-chan, Blood on the Sunflowers, cneo2(3), Shay(~3), WoahWaitWhat, DaniAqueri, And many others! I read all your reviews~ Thank you!

ALSO! Time for some _Angel!Matthew_, I believe I owe an amazing reader a prize story! ;) Sorry it's taken so long, but I'm definitely concentrating on it now! 3

_Translations:_

Вы двое (Russian): You two

Пошли (Russian): Lets go

Frère (French): Brother

_Disclaimer_: I own nothing within this story except the plot these awesome Nation-Characters are placed in. And that pizza Gilbert brought- That's mine. *eats it all*


	37. Bleu: Blue

Chapter 37: Bleu: Blue

If there was one thing Canada had over America it was speed. Sure, in comparison, Alfred's legs were longer than Matthews, he was taller too, but the muscles of the larger man were mostly in the arms; broad shoulders and thick biceps. Not to mention less muscle definition in the middle (he was not _fat_, just not defined, there was a difference!).

Whereas Matthew had a lean build, sleek and agile, not skinny, but athletic with a gymnastic flexibility. He may not be suitable for football or baseball (his throw was not the best), but he was damn good at soccer and hockey, skiing and snowboarding- anything on his feet.

Some said that if you gave him skates, he could practically fly- it wasn't much different without.

This is why, despite Alfred's rush to catch up; the Canadian's fast stride put him far ahead of his brother. Every second, Alfred fell farther behind- and it wasn't because the American was slow.

In many ways, pushing his body so hard to put on this burst of speed hurt Matthew; his legs ached from inactivity, his balance still seemed off, the wounds on his chest pulled, and he already had trouble breathing. Still, for the moment, he ignored the pain- his attention was solely focused on something more important. A dark figure in the distance, telltale dark brown hair, black jacket, jeans...

Alec Zaytsev followed the stone walls of a building, walking unsteadily towards the more busy intersection leading to the harbor. He seemed to favor his left arm, as it hung limply at his side, his other hand trailed lightly along the stone exterior of some kind of commercial building, providing support and balance.

His eyes wavered, sometimes on the skyline where he could see the ships- sails or large air induction chutes. Other times, he would glare down at the sidewalk, determination and pain and anger at the general situation showing on his features. He noted with a more indifferent feeling that he was leaving a trail of blood behind him, small though it was. He wondered if he could be tracked like a wild animal from it; then figured it wouldn't matter when and if he gained some transportation.

He wondered about the time it would take, the route, the plan- until... suddenly he couldn't think.

He was too busy saying hello to the concrete.

The sharp rocks bit into the side of his face, the palm of his right hand scraped from the instinctual action of catching himself. His chest still hit the ground hard, and all the air in his lungs rushed out of him in a wheeze.

It only took a second to frantically think about how he ended up on the rough asphalt; did he trip? And then he felt a weight at his back, a knee pressing hard between his shoulder blades and he let out a desperate whine- he probably would have screamed in pain, but he couldn't get enough oxygen to do that; and all attempts to take more in were met with pain.

White flashes crossed his vision and he couldn't think of what happened-that he'd been caught, or that he might as well be dead now- just that his shoulder was _throbbing_, and he couldn't breathe- and whoever was on his back, _please get the fuck off_!

Thank the heavens that they did- he gasped, lungs screaming for oxygen, but it was hard when he was being pulled by the back of his shirt; flipped from being on his stomach, to his back- this time he yelped a little louder, protesting a little more.

Blindly, and rather weakly, he tried to throw the weight off of him, pushing at the figure with his right hand before it was slapped away violently. An arm pressed against his jugular, holding him down and his shoulder was pressed to the pavement, freezing his body into a paralyzed state as pain screamed from his side.

It hurt so fucking much; he thought he was going to pass out. Or hyperventilate, or just plain scream... as it was he realized that most of the panic was self-inducing- he tried to calm his racing heart, tried to breathe, focus on something other than his shoulder...

Something cold pressed against his cheek- a gun, he realized... funny, the metal felt nice against his heated skin actually, and he concentrated on that. The coolness of the weapon against his heated and sweaty flesh, and he took as deep of an inhale as he could, slowly opening his eyes to meet his attacker.

Within those brown eyes, there was no fear; he was not afraid of a gun, or of dying. He just wished he could go without pain if that was his fate, because quite frankly, he was sick of all his nerves reminding him that he'd been shot.

He was so sick of it he wondered if chopping the limb off would solve the problem, or hell, give him enough vodka or morphine to pass out until the damn thing healed or rotted off. Whichever one was fine by him- he'd just wished it was his left arm- he was not ambidextrous, and it'll be awkward writing, shooting, punching, and masturbating- with his left...

Because there would definitely be a lot more masturbating after that, since he would be an amputee, and what kind of woman willingly laid with a guy with one arm?

Bright violet eyes floated in front of him, catching his attention and bringing him out of whatever delirious thoughts were swimming in his head. Such a beautiful color of purple and blue shades, but the emotion within was fierce and determined, aimed directly at _him_, accompanied with a sudden growl that might have been his name.

"Alec."

That voice was unfamiliar, soft but angry, quiet but _loud_ with a hidden power and a thinly veiled threat. But those eyes- he knew those eyes anywhere, and he couldn't help but smirk slightly. What, was he happy to see the kid? You'd think so by the way Alec's pathetically slumped form brightened even with all the pain he'd been feeling.

To see the boy alive, walking, _talking_ even- it was like a fond memory of when you see how fast a child can grow up. Wasn't it just a few hours ago that he'd been forced to bath the Canadian? My, how time flew- now he was capable of running and tackling injured criminals, how cute. "Da, that's my name," he slurred.

That sounded so lame, he thought, and too passive. Wasn't he supposed to struggle or be the villain he was named as? What was a good comeback to that? He knew so many, but they didn't readily come to mind. "Have you screamed it before?"

The violent push further back to the ground shut him up real quick and he almost pouted; why couldn't he lighten the atmosphere with a few cheesy pick up line jokes? Where was the kid's humor?

"Where is Dmitri?" Ah,_ so the kid was going straight to the problem... _That sucked. He was hoping his last few moments of life would be spent without being tortured for information. And it seemed he would be if he didn't answer; the kid looked murderous.

Well, he didn't think he'd be forgiven for his actions toward him- he wouldn't be surprised if Matthew wanted revenge. He supposed that dying without pain was a fickle, selfish wish anyway.

"Hell if I kn-" the Russian grunted.

"You _do_ know."

"I don't."

"Tell me, Alec, or I will shoot you."

"Go ahead, I ain't got anything to say, kid."

The gun made a distinctive _click_-ing sound as the hammer was pulled back, and those mauve eyes darkened in a threat; daring Alec to test him- and the Russian didn't doubt. He wasn't surprised at the amount of hostility; the blond above him had every right to pull the trigger, after all, it wasn't like Alec helped him in any way.

Maybe... it was good that Alec would die by the hands of someone he directly wronged, instead of being put to death by a random officer or rotting away in prison. _Yeah, I could go like this..._

"Wait! Don't shoot him!"

Another pistol was shoved in his face, the barrel mere inches from his forehead, held by a panting blond that looked somewhat familiar, even though he glared at him with such cold, almost frightening blue eyes.

"Ah," Alec mumbled. "You're the idiot from the hospital." He only remembered his stupid face because he'd run him out flat on the floor- brainless monkey, running down a hospital hallway.

"What?" the American questioned. "You were..."

Canada's eyes flickered to his brother's face. "You saw him at the hospital?"

"Yeah, along with- _fuck_- a guy with freakish yellow eyes! I didn't know what they looked like back then! Shit!"

Alec chuckled. "One for us, right?"

Alfred glared back down. "Shut up. The only thing out of your mouth should be answers or pleads for your worthless life."

"I said don't shoot him!" That voice again, it was higher in pitch, belonging to a woman, and to the left of Alec, opposite of the blond American, stood a white haired beauty. Her long hair billowed around her in the wind, cold dark blue eyes standing out against porcelain skin, contrasting well against her black attire.

"Natalia..." Alec's eyes widened in shock. "Shit, you're with them?" And then... he laughed- weakly, as every movement of his chest hurt- but his grin seemed out of place with two loaded pistols aimed point-blank at his head. "No wonder they found us so quick! Dmitri was like 'Nobody knows where we are, it's safe' - ha! Oh, man, he'd be _pissed _if he knew I screwed it up by talking to a girl. He always said that kind of thing would get me in trouble... who knew it _wouldn't_ be STD-related?"

Nobody knew exactly what to say about that, and Alfred gave him a rather curious/disturbed look, but Belarus leaned down to better see the Russian man she had 'befriended.' "Yes, Alec... Ivan Braginski is my brother."

That statement did something- Alec's entire body froze, the grin on his face wiped away, replaced with shock and disbelief. "You're kidding."

"No. I'm not." Her expression remained blank.

Alec's brown eyes stared for a moment before glancing away somewhat guiltily. "I didn't know that," he said softly. "Damn, your brother and brother-in-law, or whatever you call it in English. The whole family!"

Natalia sent a particularly suspicious look at Matthew. "Brother-in-law? They are hardly married."

He snorted, "Then when's the wedding? I've never been to one."

"I want to know where Dmitri is, Alec." She looked like she'd much rather continue to the original topic, ignoring the other comment entirely, though Matthew felt it would be brought up some other time in the future.

There was silence for a long while, and during that time, all three of the Nations above remained stiff in the tense atmosphere- Canada was rather nervous at the proximity of Belarus, as well as the unreadable looks given to him. Alfred looked ready to simply shoot the Russian- he was hardly in any mood to give mercy and one of the major sources of his brother's pain was right in front of his .357 magnum's barrel.

However, despite their wariness of each other, they all noticed the collecting pool of blood. Alec was bleeding out- he probably lost too much blood already; he was pale, the eyes unfocused- disoriented.

"He was going to the pier. I don't know where at, but if he can find a boat, he'll take it. You all know that, I'm sure- cops are all over the place." He turned back to face Matthew. "Surprised to see _you_ again though, didn't think you'd even be able to walk after what D did to you." He coughed a bit, choking as the arm against his neck made it difficult to swallow. Even still he tried to hide it with a pathetically weak pick-up line, "I'm better, I promise."

America scowled, opening his mouth to protest, insult, and _question_ just what he meant by that, when Canada spoke up over him. "He's spouting out nonsense, Al, look at him, he's about to pass out!"

"Then get rid of him, he's going to die anyway, and if he doesn't know anything, then that sucks for him."

Canada didn't disagree, though he continued to look at Alec a little more carefully. "Does he still have the book with him?"

The Russian hummed nonchalantly.

"Please, tell me. You don't understand the implications that book can have, it _cannot_ get to the public-"

"Kiss me."

Canada froze, mouth open- "E-Excusez-moi?"

Those brown eyes were not looking at him though, instead, Alec was practically staring back at Natalia, saying that _to her_, and obviously, that command was as shocking to her as it was to everyone else. Her expression was one of bewilderment- eyes wide and lips parted. "W-what?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna die soon, I want to kiss you before I go. Besides- do that for me... and I'll tell you where his book is."

"Absolutely not!"

"Then no deal."

"You-"

"It is the least I could do... If I knew Ivan was your brother, maybe that would have changed things... I told you about Maria, da? Give me a break and kiss me." He grinned, as if that was _charming_.

"_Straight up vodka? Damn, you are a different kind of girl, huh?" A laugh, low and relaxing even as the rowdiness of the club around them misplaced it. Natalia sat daintily on the bar-stool next to the Russian, back straight, not a hair out of place- she sipped at her alcohol slowly. Her classy dress and mannerisms looked completely out of place here, but she didn't seem uncomfortable at all. _

_Alec grinned, leaning closer. "So, what are you doing in this kind of place?"_

"_I came to find my brother- but I do not see him."_

"_Ah, that's not good- what kind of brother leaves his hot-as-hell-sister in a place like this? It's dangerous. You could get mugged, or raped-"_

"_How chivalrous of you, to think of my well-being."_

_He laughed. "I'm nothing but a gentleman to ladies- unless it's in bed." Then he winked playfully._

"_Oh, you are also very bold," Belarus commented, watching him with a blank face- whether she was charmed by his advances or not, he couldn't tell. _

_Usually Alec would stay away from these types of women- the classy individuals like her seemed to have more confidence, a better reputation. More often than not, these women would hunt for their men on their own, for they pretty much could snag anyone they wanted; a bomb-shell like Natalia could get any man in this bar if she tried._

_Alec wasn't usually up for the fight it took to win girls like this over- it took far more effort to convince them to sleep with him... not to say he _couldn't_ do it, but the half-naked dancer five feet away, with average good looks was enough for him. And he'd bet he could get her to be all over his lap in a heartbeat._

_For some strange reason- this Natalia woman had caught his attention for the night, and he found himself turned on by her casual attitude, the indifferent reactions to his charm- the subtle flirting was a nice change. _

"_Just confident, is all," he replied back. "I could show you a good time, you look like you don't get out much. That is... if your brother approves, right?" he laughed, like that was a joke. Belarus almost smiled- because it really was; of course her brother would not approve of the man working with his enemy._

"_Why do you care if he does or not?"_

_That smile remained, showing teeth. "Big brothers are very protective of their little sisters, you know? It's like, an instinct."_

"_How would you know this?"_

"_I have a little sister too! Maria Gorbachova."_

"_And you approved of her fiancé?"_

"_I don't know, I've never even met him." _

_Natalia faltered, a bit confused- wasn't this whole conversation about sibling approval...?_

_Alec shook his head ruefully after tossing back a shot of absinthe and Bacardi mix. "I guess I should mention that I haven't talked to my sister in a few years."_

_Natalia stared. "So how do you know about protective instincts?" she asked, a bit of sarcasm in her tone._

_The brunette huffed in amusement. "So, when our parents died, we were put in this shitty foster-home, the Gorbachovs, and I would get in trouble all the time! Most of it would be stealin'- we were really poor, but the cops would catch me, and my sister would cry, and the fosters would bitch and complain. I knew I caused trouble, and my fosters never liked me, but I didn't care about them- I did it for my sister._

"_One day though, I came home from school, and everything was... gone. The door was locked, all of the furniture was gone, clothes, food- all of it. My sister along with them._

"_So, I tried to find them; I was pissed- they took my _sister_, that was the only thing I had left, ya know? But it wasn't like I could go to the cops- I had no money or food, no transportation, or the _slightest_ clue on where they went and I was pretty convinced they wouldn't help me anyway. _

"_I lived on the streets for the longest time; I got involved with all kinds of shit; gangs, drugs, trafficking- and I asked around, and dug through classified files and whispered rumors, trying to find her again. I told myself that when I did see her, I would have enough money and power to protect her and keep her safe- she'd never be taken from me again."_

_Natalia frowned, "You must have found her then..."_

"_Da..." The man's face grew solemn, an expression Belarus felt was rare to see. He stared at the wooden bar in front of him. "It started with an old damn newspaper, and I wasn't even looking for it. I was on a job, doing a background check on somebody- I don't even remember the name... a car wreck and the deaths of two elderly people. My foster parents."_

"_Not your sister?"_

"_My sister wasn't mentioned, but I recognized the names and the faces of those two grouchy assholes; the wreck happened a year after they disappeared, in a small piss-poor village near the White Sea and Finland. I went there, asked around about the couple and a possible "daughter" they left behind._

"_And I got answers... back to the slums of the streets, in a disgusting old bar with filthy perverted men. My beautiful sister on a stage- her once wavy brown hair was ratted, and her green eyes were dull. She was too thin, her voice was hoarse, and..." Alec paused. He looked haunted by the memory- his eyes did not water, his voice did not crack, but in a way he seemed broken. "She had needle marks in her arms too. Still, she danced- she took off her clothes and smiled for those _fucking _pigs while they stuffed money at her."_

_Natalia remained silent, frowning and honestly intrigued and disturbed by the story._

"_After her _performance_, I was able to talk with her- and I was angry and hurt and _so_ ready to _help_- because that was not a job for her. She would never have had to do that if I'd been with her. Those goddamn fosters thought they'd make a new life, forgetting the _trash_ that they left behind. But they ended up dying, leaving the only thing precious and innocent to rot on her own. _

"_I was so angry... If they hadn't died already, I'd have murdered them. Maria..."_

_He took a deep breath, shaking his head, ordering another shot of liquor, and trying to get back to the story- not the things he'd do to his "parents" if he had the chance. "My sister didn't welcome me as I thought she would... Though, she did say that for the longest time, I was her rock; her strength. She missed me. _

"_But when I offered to take her away, she refused. She said she had goals to go to school, start a business; she didn't want my help- and I knew she was full of shit. In her situation? She wasn't going to school- most of her money probably went to the dope she used to pump through her veins every day. She needed out, and I was there to show the way... so why did she refuse?_

"_Because she owed money to the strip club she worked at, and her "pimp" and his gang. All the retards she fucked for that dope, cause she had nothing else but her body to bargain with by then."_

_Natalia leaned closer, trying to get a good look at the man's expression, worried if he was breaking under his own story, and she was going to tell him to stop, because she'd heard enough, if that was the case. However, his brown eyes lifted to connect with hers, and the emotions within were locked away so tight, she couldn't get a read on them, and he was smiling, charmingly and so out-of-place and fake, she didn't know what to believe._

"_Two Million Dollars!" he said. "That's how much it will take to buy her freedom. She'll have enough left over to buy a house even! But she'll have to go to rehab- I'll make sure she does- even if I have to tie her down to the bed as she gets over it, I promised her that... Sure, she gave me this look like she didn't believe a damn thing I said, but I'll show her."_

"_And you've been collecting all that money for her?"_

"_Yep! All for her... It'll be worth it. I'll have my Maria back, and it'll be just me and her- no stupid fosters, money problems, cops- just happiness."_

_The Belarusian smiled. "Sounds like a fairy tale happy ending. You'd go so far for her."_

"_I believe every big brother would, but then again, some people are dead-beat retards who wouldn't know the importance of their own blood. Your brother isn't like that, is he?"_

"_No, I don't believe he is, but sometimes..." she hummed, wondering if she should say. At his prompting, interested look, she continued somewhat hesitantly. "There was a time where we were all together, happy. Some things happened, as they always tend to do, and we were split apart. I hated it, even if I had my own kind of freedom, I missed him. I... think he missed me too- no, I know he was lonely on his own. However, here lately, it doesn't seem like he needs me, or wants to be around me as he once did. He's always looking for someone else- and I am always so... jealous."_

_Alec grinned, "Jealous little sister? That's cute." Her glare only made him laugh a little louder. "Well, I guess there are certain duties my sister wouldn't be able to fulfill-"_

"_Like _what_?"_

_He huffed in amusement, not at all insulted by her annoyed interruption. "Sex for one, but... I don't know, isn't family _supposed_ to be there for each other? A complete stranger isn't, so it's interesting to bring them into your life and see if they'll stay- because in the end, it's their choice if they want to. So... if I found a special girl, I'm not saying she'd replace the love I have for Maria, but... it's nice to think I could love her enough to die for her too. She would do the same for me, right? If it was true love... some shit like that."_

"_Right," Natalia muttered, returning to her drink._

"_But hey, not like I need a girl right now. I'm just having fun, no commitment!" He threw another flirtatious wink her way, downing his shot glass before standing. "Now, why don't I take you to the dance floor?"_

"Are you gonna kiss me or not? Cause I'm about to faint like a sissy."

Blinking, Belarus sent an annoyed look Alec's way, putting a hand on her hip and looking ready to slap him. "You're not the charmer you think you are-"

"Natalia," Matthew's tone gave her pause, and she looked towards the blond in surprise. His teeth were grinding together, eyes narrowed, and voice rough. "We need to find Dmitri, and we need to get that book."

Alfred frowned. "What boo-"

"The _book_, the thing Dmitri has been basing his entire plans on. It has classified information that could ruin Ivan if it was released to the public. We _have_ to destroy it." He stared up at Belarus intently. "I think a silly kiss is an easy payment."

"Then _you_ kiss him," she hissed.

"I would if that's what it took!" Matthew yelled. "Unfortunately he didn't ask _me_, damn it, so _you_ better gain the courage and do it instead!"

"Am I that undesirable?" Alec slurred.

Natalia seethed, glaring at Matthew with dislike before bending down, folding her legs underneath her and pushing her hair behind her shoulder. On hands and knees she hovered over the Russian, close enough to feel his breath.

A cold, chaste kiss was placed on the cheek before she withdrew- still looking murderous. Alec only smirked. "Prude." And then he was smacked and he yelped, protesting as loudly as he could. "Come on!"

"I thought you were dying!"

"I think I am-"

"Then hurry up about it!"

"Save your breath to tell me where Dmitri and his book are," Matthew interrupted, pushing down on the man to further get his attention.

"Damn it, the dock, the book is with him, he went to the west side, that's all I know."

"Thank you," Canada growled, finally letting go of the Russian, standing to his feet unsteadily, and then stepping over the man in the direction of the port. Alec stayed there- a little afraid to move and experience any more pain- eyes closing in exhaustion.

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "So can I shoot him?"

"Leave him for the military; either he'll die or rot in jail. I don't care. Ivan will deal with him later." America did not look happy about that- this was a loose end, and revenge was needed for the treatment of his brother!

But Canada was already jogging off- soon to be lost as he crossed the street and turned around a building. Alfred growled, not willing to let his brother leave his sight, and so he holstered his weapon, sent a look at the two Russian soldiers behind him- _don't let this man out of your sight.._.

Then he took off after the Canadian, once again attempting to close distance between them- Matthew was _fast_ when he wanted to be.

He hardly noticed that Natalia stayed behind.

...oOo...

It was definitely haunting to be here, Ivan thought, leaning against a dirty stone wall as he listened for footsteps. The stone at his back was chilling; frozen cold as it had been exposed to the elements... it was the same as it had been back _then_.

Everything from the floor, the ceiling, the blank grey walls- even the hard metal beds missing their blankets- everything was always freezing cold. In the worst of winter it would reach negatives so low; thirty percent of the prisoners died every year.

Unbelievable cold; the kind that numbed the body, seeping into the bones; until every breath hurt your lungs it was so frigid, and your eyes watered and then the tears froze- limbs turned a deathly pale white before hardening and unfeeling, beginning with the fingers, toes, ears and nose; spreading. And there were times Ivan had gone so long with frostbitten fingers and toes- he didn't remember how it felt to _feel_; textures and warmth.

The pain of finally thawing out his body- the result; blackening flesh of gangrene and blisters and dead down to the _bone_.

That was just from the environment- the real torture came during the day; working in the mines- with the smoke and dust- they did just as much damage. Sweat and blood, dangerous and unstable tunnels, the fast pace, the angry secret police that ruled over their production rate. "Go faster! Work harder!" While they dished out a single daily serving of 'bread' - a mixture of flour and water; three days old and frozen solid.

Ivan remembered those days very well, and standing in the middle of it all, he could almost _hear_ the cries of pain and sorrow- smell the blood and fear rolling from the ghosts who lived their final moments of life as tortured men.

Dark eyes closed, shutting out the vision of the cold, unforgiving room, and he felt his heart throb with sympathy for the prisoners who remained connected here in death. In many ways, he was in the same situation, wasn't he? He continued to live, but the past stayed with him no matter how much time passed. Did the past haunt him? Or was he the one unable to let it go? Like a trapped poltergeist, unable to leave the one place they felt a connection to- no matter if that connection pained them or not.

_It didn't matter_, Ivan told himself, whether he was the one holding onto it or not- he had a duty to his Nation, and to Matthew- his nightmarish past would have to shove off for the moment; there was no time to dwell on it.

Dmitri Mihailov led him here for that exact reason- to get caught up in all his memories- to distract him. Ivan could not allow that, and he could certainly not allow the traitor to escape. He opened his eyes to glare at the wall across from him, dark stone broken by a metal framed bunk bed of sorts; he looked away from the image forcefully, and turned the corner leading into a hallway.

Broken windows to the right littered the floor with glass, and the wind seemed particularly biting in the narrow corridor as it whistled eerily- they were the only source of light, and Ivan warily checked every open doorway along the left wall that led into shadowed rooms.

He looked convinced that there may be something within (whether it be his target or some kind of beastly creature, he didn't know). He felt eyes on him- from everywhere- and despite trying to keep focus on the one situation at hand, he couldn't stop paranoia.

He attempted to keep his steps quiet, struggling to hear any other movement besides his own; he was tensed like a spring, put under the maximum amount of weight and just waiting to be released. His breathing seemed too loud for him so he held it, stepping from one empty room to the next. _Doctor-experiments-drug-pain-screams; anything but the doctor, because they would only declare you unfit for work, and the next thing you knew you were either tested like a guinea pig or led out back for execution_.

Again, the room was empty besides a hard wooden desk infected with rot and bugs and swollen from moisture. A chair sat by the window, as if waiting for the person to sit and stare out at the grounds. _Officer-whips-chains-orders; hard eyes with no mercy, looking at you as if he enjoyed inflicting as much pain as he could possibly dish out and you shivered at the very mention of his name, hiding from sight as he walked by, hoping you would never catch his attention._

Ivan couldn't hold his breath any more, and he let it out with a shaky sigh, trying to keep it as silent as possible, tightening his hold on his rifle to keep his hands from shaking. Once again he told himself to man up- to shut out every little memory- he would not be weakened like this!

Suddenly, a loud clatter filled the air, echoing down the hall and Russia spun around, rifle at the ready- in that split second he no longer looked afraid but determined, angry, ready to shoot. No matter the enemy that was going to face him; human, nation, ghost, demon- he'd fight in whatever way he could with everything he had, because there was no other option.

He knew the feeling of fear and despised the crippling weakness he felt while walking these halls; he was _afraid_ of the memories and of the monsters tearing at his stained soul. However, he had never been one to freeze in the moment he was called upon to fight. Terror never paralyzed him, and even if his enemy were stronger or more intelligent than him, Ivan did not ever roll over or concede defeat.

_It's why the officers loved him so much- they loved his snide remarks and defiant attitude even as they punished him for his disobedience. He fought them; hands tied, feet bound- his nude body covered in whip lashes and blood and his teeth were knocked out but he _fought_. It was his right to survive, for his people, for the land he bled on- the soil soaked in his blood called to him. _

_Maybe it was the will of the more defiant civilians channeling through him, or perhaps it was the decades of training, experiencing war and death that kept him from giving up. Either way, Russia and his people were stubborn- and Ivan took that characteristic to heart in the fact that nothing could take away his strength in terms of bravery. _

So he stepped out of the dilapidated office, into the empty hallway- his eyes narrowed and determined, his grip on the rifle steady and secure. Booted feet took confident steps, carrying him past the other abandoned rooms that once looked so frightening and haunted. They barely garnered his attention as he stalked to the end of the hall, pressing his back to the wall in order to discreetly see around the corner.

There was another muffled sound of footsteps accompanied by a curse in Russian before the screeching whine of a rusty door opening sounded. Ivan used the noise to hide the sound of his own movement, getting just a bit closer until he could see clearly into the room. It was more of a hanger than a functional living space- it was right on the water, built onto a wooden dock. Equipment lined one wall; cabinets and rusted tools-mostly for the mining crews, but a few fisherman's nets and rods set nearby as well.

On the other side was a pair of metal sliding doors that opened to the outside, and a dark figure struggled with one noisily. First, there was rubble and snow piled in the front, as the door had already been open a few inches. Then, it was rusted, frozen, and hadn't been moved in years.

Still, the person tried; he kicked whatever hindered him out of his way, bracing his back against the wall and shoving at the door as much as he could- resulting in a painful screeching as the metal tracks grated together.

It only slid a few more inches before stopping and the man attempted to force it further but had no luck getting it to move. With only a foot of space between the frame and the door, the man could hardly squeeze through, but it seemed like his only option. No other door led directly to his destination and if he couldn't go through here, he'd have to go back outside and around the entire building (in the open, where the police could see him).

He didn't realize that it was too late for discreetly sneaking around until the large form of a man stepped around the corner. His movements halted, strangely bright golden eyes widening as he recognized the man before him.

Dark eyes narrowed angrily at him from behind a raised military issued rifle; the booted feet spread to give him better balance and tensed to move in a seconds notice.

A naive part of Dmitri never thought he'd see this man up close; to be in the same room as him, to feel the glare, withstand the dangerous aura pouring from him- he looked much larger in person than he did on a television screen. At least a head taller than the human, almost double the shoulder width- two hundred pounds of muscle with a short temper and a painfully dooming expression of fury attached to the sharp features.

Another part of Dmitri knew very well what this meant: Ivan had found him, that fact couldn't be changed now, and he knew that he had no significant advantage over the Nation. Fighting hand-to-hand would get him killed so fast... running would get him caught in only a matter of time (those long legs of Ivan's would more than likely keep up and surpass him).

What else could he do?

He started with a smile; large, happy- as if the man before him was a sight he couldn't have hoped to see. "Ivan Braginski," he called joyfully. "Or should I say Russia? How is that boyfriend of yours?"

...Thank You...

I know, I know, the cliffhanger, I'm sorry, but the chapter was long enough! Ha ha, I couldn't possibly continue with this scene, otherwise it would take pages more! Then the last chapters would be lacking, eh! So you'll just have to deal with the anticipation! /is shot and maimed.

Anyway, sheesh, we're nearing the end, I'm kind of scared to reach it. But it won't be the end of Giving In really, I will have it all cleaned up, and feature the art and all the members of the group who have helped me so much.

And we have plenty of new readers, joining the late party! XD Welcome!

I hope you like the chapter, and hopefully I'll be able to get more writing done now that the Holidays are over- working in retail is not a good thing when it comes to holiday and free-time. Not that I had much free-time in the first place... remember the awesome bi-weekly schedule I had once so long ago? … yeah... Hopefully those days will come again. :P

Translations:

None.

Disclaimer: I do not own Nations, Cities, Ships, People, Guns- no wait... I own guns, I'm an American. Duh.


	38. 3елёный: Green

Chapter 38: зеленый: Green

Ivan's eyes were very similar to Matthew's, a deep violet- but they seemed to differ in shades. Dmitri noticed Canada's irises held specks of bright blue within them, perhaps a few green as well. This made them bright, cheerful, and incredibly innocent when coupled with the emotions he never bothered to hide.

And while those few light sparkles gave Matthew an ethereal glow, Ivan's eyes could only bode a dangerous, painful existence. For the Russian's gaze was tinted with red, a deep, angry red which seemed to stand out in the darkness of the room.

They glared with such a malice, as if they were a demon's eyes feasting upon a pestering _rat_, and he didn't know whether he was disgusted enough to do away with it or _eat_ it. Because the terrified screams that rat could make after tearing apart his limbs would more than quell the thirst for blood.

The Demon's thin pale lips parted, and his tone suggested nothing but a forced sort of calm; even, level, sane; but at the same time, deep, guttural, and threatening. It only let his prey know just how angry he was. "What did you say, comrade?"

And Dmitri continued to smile, because it was a thrill standing there, witnessing the stance Ivan held himself in- like a panther; strong, graceful, with hidden claws and teeth that could rip you in half, all barely contained in that anger. And yes, Dmitri was frightened- who in their right mind wouldn't be? This was _Russia_ looking absolutely _murderous_.

The shivers down Dmitri Mihailov's spine could certainly be one of fright, but he surprisingly found himself rooted to the spot, if not honestly _happy_ to see Ivan in all his wild fury... this... was what he had hoped to see all along.

Such rage, such _want_ to cause another pain; he could _see_ it in the Russian's eyes and even if he was the source, the outlet, he was simply excited to know that it still existed. He swelled with pride knowing he was the reason Ivan came so close to the threshold, verging into the realm of insanity- a place Russia had not been in for so long, but remembered it clearly even if he pretended not to.

He wanted to push him more- he wanted to see Ivan lose control and _know_ without a doubt that this side of the man had not been lost over the years of ductile servitude to politics.

"I said, _comrade_," Dmitri replied with a quick smile. "I should have taken the chance and fucked him harder." He was playing with fire- and it was so hot he knew he would get burned, but he couldn't help it, he wanted to see Ivan break under all that fury.

Ivan's reaction was subtle and yet it was exactly how Dmitri had imagined it to be- a violent spark in his eyes, the clenching of the jaw... and the pull of a trigger. In the small room, the explosion of a gunshot echoed loudly, and even as it faded away, their ears rang.

Dmitri had jerked back instinctively, knowing he couldn't dodge a bullet if Ivan truly aimed. But as the bullet whizzed past him before he could even blink, hitting the metal doors just a few inches away, and the impact of metal, copper, and aluminum sounded an explosion.

Even if the bullet missed him, he did not come out unscathed- the metal warped before a large piece of it blew apart, slivers of the debris cut into him; his right shoulder, which was closest, his cheek, forehead, the hand he used to block the most of his face- all received bits and pieces of the rustic metal alloy.

When it seemed to be over, just a few seconds after his comment, he looked back up with an astonished expression, his heart leaping in his chest- knowing he brushed against death. "One little comment and you shoot crazily at me. Did he mean that much to you?" he asked with wonder. Ivan had no difference in expression, merely tightening his hold on the rifle.

Dmitri felt an unsteady chuckle leave his throat; a panic inducing reaction- better to laugh than show fear now. Not when he's dreamed of this moment since he was a child. He did just that; huffing in amusement and brushing dust off his jacket, ignoring the blossoming red from his multitude of cuts.

Looking back into red violet eyes once more he pulled a smirk. "I apologize. Obviously you wanted to fuck him first. If you told me that, I would have let you have him while he was paralyzed. That would have been fun to wat-"

"I would be very careful with what you are about to say," Ivan growled lowly. He pulled the stock back, reloading with a loud _clack_, before re-focusing it on Dmitri's face. "Because the only thing I want to hear is screams, da? And next time I shoot, I will not miss."

"Ah, so very serious. Why don't you shoot me now then?"

"That is too quick, and there are many others who would like to tear you apart," the Russian said, and Dmitri did not doubt. For a split second he wondered what would be better- dying quickly from a gunshot, or being tortured for days by an angry group of Nation representatives who knew very well how to cause pain... On a light note, he would witness firsthand the glorious expression on Ivan's face as he once more committed the dirty sins of peeling skin from bone.

It would be like watching a rebirth of the monster he only heard about in stories- a demon determined to make your last hours of life as painful as possible; so to make you believe you were in hell before you even arrived in death; or... perhaps even wish for the burning pits of eternity, because living became the real nightmare, and the tall demonic form with haunting red-violets was your own personal devil.

No doubt, Dmitri would beg for death if he was forced to endure so much- from Russia, or the others. And that made him wonder who "others" were exactly. He smiled as he thought aloud; "Yes, let me guess, America for one- seeing as it is... Canada I stole away, naturally the other Nation would want to step in. Who else?"

"Germany, England, France, among others who-"

"I started such a war, didn't I?" he interrupted, looking surprised and yet, he seemed to give himself a pat on the back, smiling victoriously, as if he achieved something great. "All those Nations... was Canada really that important? I must say I didn't do too much research on the Country, but I did not think he was _that_ popular... Or did everyone just want their little toy back?"

"Do not speak of Matthew that way-"

"Is that what you wanted, Russia? Your sex-toy to play with as you please? Because, really, I'm curious on why you cared so much. I don't think your Government is that close with his- do your bosses have a relationship too? Taking your sisters would not have had the same effect, but then, the pathetic boy that represented Canada was far more enjoyable, and I was... _honored _to have him, if you know what I mean, da?"

"I do not," Ivan replied, and he looked as if he were about to shoot again.

"Let me explain it for you then- the beauty of his eyes as they watered with salty tears, and even through the drug in his system he whimpered so softly. The blood was a perfect lubricant and my fingers slid in so smoothly. So warm and tight-"

This time, Dmitri was better prepared; while he knew he couldn't dodge bullets, he found he didn't have to- the large form of Ivan was suddenly _right in his face_, with barely two steps and it had Dmitri diving to the side, missing the butt end of a rifle by mere centimeters. He stumbled over rubble to gain more distance from the giant turning to face the man with a grin and another shaky laugh.

"And I'm sure if he could have spoken, he would be screaming!" he said. "Help me, save me, stop, please!" His voice was loud, high pitched like a victim's tone would be. "But nobody heard him, nobody came- not until it was too late, right Ivan?"

Ivan did not answer; he simply followed the man, making the Russian dive once more to escape a brutal swing of the rifle. "You talk too much, and I do not want to kill you yet, Dmitri," he growled. "I want you chained, beaten, bloody- and I'll bring out those screams you want to hear from your own throat."

The man chuckled, flattening his back against the wall behind him, watching anxiously for the next move- Adrenalin running through his blood, causing his breath to shorten. Ivan's moves were quick for sure, but Dmitri had been fast on his feet so far and his chances of escaping only increased as he reached his hand behind him. Out of sight, a sweaty palm soothed across the solid handle of a gun. "You'll have to catch me first."

That made Russia pause, and a certain twisted light swept through his eyes before a sickening sweet kind of smile darkened his features. "You are implying you can run, da?"

For a second, their eyes connected, and the color was vastly different, but the intent inside them were so similar. A wild thought crossed Ivan's mind; how he must look in the mirror- a trapped animal with the instinct to fight and survive, with the power and will to destroy all those who stood in the way of his personal freedom. To eliminate weakness.

To Dmitri, Ivan was a weakness; the emotions he had shown for his sisters, friends, and Matthew made him weak. The loss in influence around the world, the loss in destructive weaponry after the World Wars, the current economic situation; Dmitri felt that it was _his _fault.

Wishing to make friends and falling in _love_ came at the price of power and as Ivan became soft, domestic, and undeserving; so had Russia.

This part of Dmitri that stood before him with an evil tilt to his eyes was not foreign. Ivan had fought against men like this his entire life; they were the ones who trained him, punished him for every mistake, pointed out all his flaws and _forced_ him into a perfect warrior.

As years went by, those men may have died but their words never left him, merely joining together as voices inside his head. And they frequently whispered about how times changed. They reminisced about the golden ages- where Russia was feared, respected, strong. When he gathered so many other lonely Nations and protected them from har-

But no... He never _protected _them... did he?

And this was where those voices were stopped- because he remembered the sight of Lithuania crying as he cleaned the spiked leather whip, and he heard Latvia stutter and break down in utter fear after losing his left eye when Ivan threw glass in his face. And Estonia's eyes blanked over unseeingly when Russia grabbed a fist full of that hair, pulling tightly, as he asked the man a cold question.

That was not protection; that was control. And no matter how badly Ivan had wanted a friend, a lover, a heart- he found that he simply could not be the emotionless killer and a protector at the same time. It was impossible.

So which came first? Would he continue to forsake his own happiness, cursed to be alone for the rest of his existence (or until the other Nations decided to destroy him and his greedy, monstrous being of hate and rage). Or... trust in someone- confide in another, allow another Nation who may have been just as lonely and conflicted into his heart, and be trusted in return?

If Canada was that special someone, then he found it easy- it may have taken a long time, but Matthew had not forced his way in, and Ivan had not been as offensive with the new addition in his life as he thought he would have been.

Matthew treated him with care and admiration. And the moment Matthew gained his own respect, Ivan didn't feel the overwhelming need to place himself as superior. They knew where they stood, and for the first time since Ivan could remember, he grew close to someone _personally_.

It felt amazing.

So, if showing a bit of weakness in the form of kindness towards Matthew condemned him, then Ivan didn't think he wanted to be that strong warrior anymore. That road was dark, lonely, and depressing; it only led to his own dead end.

He wanted to say this aloud- to the voices in his head, and to Dmitri before him. He wanted to explain, and get them to understand that he was still strong, mentally as well as physically. He had believed otherwise for such a long time, but Canada had changed that- and in many ways, Dmitri only proved it.

However, he knew it was useless; they would never listen, merely whisper about the fake glory and childish dreams of ruling over the world. Reality would see that he'd never accomplish that- and so, the only other choice, one that would leave him in peace for the rest of his days... Get rid of it. Get rid of the voices, the opinion that he was weak; get rid of Dmitri.

Killing Dmitri here, smashing down that disgusting view that he was nothing more than a tool for the land of Russia- he'd become free.

Free to smile and laugh. Free to run and play, free to care for whoever he wished to care for.

And his rifle felt heavy in his hands, as if that destructive part of him fought against its use, knowing it was about to be killed. Lifting it up, bracing it against his shoulder, he looked into molten gold irises, watching the hate stare back at him.

They narrowed as a knowing look passed through- Dmitri realized this was the last shot; his last chance. He didn't feel like giving up yet though. He just might be faster...

The hand hidden behind him gripped at his pistol, pulling the short barrel free of his pants and swinging it up at the same time as Ivan.

Their weapons fired simultaneously. Twin gunshots echoed in the small room as one- casting ringing sounds throughout the abandoned building.

And this time, a scream joined it.

...oOo...

His muscles burned; calves and thighs especially; they sent stinging shocks of pain up and down the limbs, screaming for a break and Matthew's body jarred to a stop, finally giving in to the demands. His body shook with the strain of his own weight and the anxiety building up. He fell against the wooden wall of a fishing equipment and bait shop, panting heavily from his run.

It just had to be now, with all the disuse of his muscles and the injuries all along his torso- the one time he wanted to _go_ and fight- to use all that power he had which no others have seen since the world wars.

It's not like he waited for the opportunity to show other Nations how strong he could be; he was content with his secrets remaining secrets. The less attention on him and his country the better. So long as _he_ knew his strengths...

But it was a different situation now. He was involved- he needed to get up and take control of the mess he helped fester while he was captured. He had a very obvious and important chance to _help_ Russia; and at the same time, extricate the apparent weakness he felt.

_He_ was the one captured- and that stained his conscience; it made him feel helpless and weak; something he was _not_. For all the tears he cried over his situation, for all the blood that was spilled and the shame of being an object of ransom, having to be _rescued_.

Matthew had a right to have his revenge, he had a _need_ to demonstrate his strength; for his own benefit as well as Russia's; he would make a comeback and anyone else who thought they could mess with "weak little Canada" would get a size ten boot up their ass.

With that in mind he told himself: stop acting like a _baby_.

His body could not break down right now. His legs had to move, his hands had to stop shaking. and he was going to find Russia, find Dmitri- shoot the arrogant asshole in the face repeatedly- and then kiss Ivan so hard he'll be absolutely assured that whatever silly mysterious past he had haunting him hardly mattered.

Consequently, Canada would be seen as a BAMF.

That was his heroic plan.

America would be proud- no, he'd be jealous of his perfectly flawless, unquestionable skills at saving the day! Everyone would practically throw themselves at his feet for alliances and he'd finally be able to push world peace, because everyone would _listen _to him. Or else.

… He needed more sleep after this.

While his body took a few moments to rest (treacherous bastard it was) and his mind continued with a barely intelligible rant on how he would change the world, he looked out over the harbor, watching the mass of people and the tall sails of ships. His eyes passed all of this with a quick observation, lingering momentarily on the grey suited soldiers-

If he were here under different circumstances then he'd be astounded by the beauty of the picturesque scene. After leaving the city behind it was suddenly so wide and open- the people walking about made a churning wave of a multi-colored ocean. Their conversations blurred together and it made for a certain kind of music.

Finding Ivan or Dmitri would be near impossible in this environment.

It was fortunate that Matthew had a hint on where to start- and it wasn't in the middle of the crowd, thankfully. The fact that his destination along the horizon proposed a huge black smear across the serene harbor was an advantage as well.

He hardly had to look very hard for the past labor camp. Even if he were still a hundred feet away from the building, he could see the crumbling brick facade, the lack of electricity or any kind of lighting left it dark and eerie on the bright blue horizon. The complete isolation that would be perfect for a prison-like setting with its high fences and warning signs plastered everywhere for people to stay away.

Surrounded by water on one side, the beginning of steep mountainside on the other. At least two high towers could be seen reaching toward the sky, although one such structure had seemingly lost its top over the years.

That had to be the dreaded gulag Canada heard about. That had to be where Dmitri was headed. And he'd have to get there quick. He felt like time was wasting, an instinctual feeling told him he was late- he was going to miss it. Something bad was going to happen and he needed to _be there_ to somehow correct it.

Breathing easier now, he forced his legs to start walking, weaving unsteadily through the thinner crowds that persisted on the outskirts of the port. It was just past noon and the people were more hurried than usual, and the backup of exports/imports did not help the situation. Fishermen and boat drivers had nothing left to do but wait and complain. And Matthew heard it all as he passed through.

It may have been in Russian, but he recognized a few curse words in there, and he definitely understood the anger and irritation everyone felt. The atmosphere seemed tense and the people looked anxious.

Dimly, he wondered if the civilians were unconsciously channeling Ivan's own feelings. That certainly happened before- strong emotions were shared between the country's inhabitants and their representative. If Ivan were particularly angry, afraid, or hurt... it wasn't improbable that Russia as a whole would be affected.

With the people around him fidgeting, restless, shouts of anger and confusion around him building up it seemed like the pinnacle of a movie. Everything was coming together and Matthew pushed his way through another group of men arguing amongst each other to finally come to a clearing- a straight shot to the large fenced off area. He jogged at a faster pace, rushing toward his goal and panting in exertion as he took hold of the metal linked barrier.

Was he supposed to climb?

"Damn it," He growled under his breath. There was no other opening in sight and he had no time to scout around for one. With a deep shaky breath he began to pull himself up. The tip of his boots barely fit in the holed chain-links and so his strength to keep him up remained mostly in his arms and abdomen- which burned fiercely at the muscle use.

Rolling over the top of the fence hurt even worse. His chest and stomach had to make contact with the metal in order to get his legs to swing over. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he dropped the three feet back to the ground and landed on his ass.

And that hurt too. A lot.

Oh, he didn't want to move anymore, and the ground almost seemed comfortable if it weren't for the pebble digging in his side. Whatever, he could deal with that. It was better than the smarting burn of his ass and the muscles all the way up his chest.

He figured that this was the reason he never played hero.

Seriously, what had he been thinking? Something about saving the world and getting the girl? (Never mind that in this relationship, it looked like Matthew just may have to bend over first- and like hell was that going to happen any time soon. His ass was off limits for the time being)… and he had a moment of reflection and wondered why the topic of bending over for Russia even came to mind- was he that obsessed?

Forcing himself back on topic, he realized that his plan had some pretty big gaping holes, if he could say so himself. And he blamed it on that completely insane American way of thinking that never fit well with the lazy, easy going, kind, and _intelligent_ Canadian.

Damn Alfred. _I should have never read those old comic books you obsessed over._

No. He should have stayed in that hotel room, nice and warm in that bed- with Kumajirou asleep beside him as he watched sappy romance drama on the TV and ate Maple Ice Cream.

But then what would be the point? … it was all in Russian anyway, and it would be useless to see without Ivan as the translator. Listening to his voice as he explained the stupid soap opera dynamics was enjoyable- even if he wanted to laugh, because Ivan had been very opinionated and disgusted throughout the entire show.

"_And now he's saying how he loves her, and he was sorry for being late for their date- seriously? Who would fall for that, it is obvious his is lying, da? Can't we watch something else, Matvey?"_

"_No, this is cute, keep going."_

_A long-suffering sigh that was over-exaggerated and false seeing as a slight smirk played upon those lips. "Fine, but the blond- how do you call it... bimbo- believed every word. How pathetic." Matthew laughed at his tone, nodding in agreement._

If he wanted that peaceful kind of company back, then he'd have to go find Ivan. And if he was going to do that, it involved pain... He tried to convince himself it was worth it.

A loud crack startled him out of his thoughts and he tipped his head back to look around him, alarmed- that had to be gunfire. Loud like thunder and echoing deep- it was a rifle.

With a deep breath, he pushed off the rocky ground with his elbows, rolling over from his back, to his hands and knees. Lifting himself up from there was easier than he thought, even as he wavered unsteadily on his feet for a second. Once more, with a sense of urgency, he began to jog, and he once more told his body to suck it up and ignore the pain for the moment. He had better things to do.

If he continued around to the left (to the back of the camp) then he would be closer to the water, and closer to any boats Dmitri would be heading for, so he started there. Once he got close enough to the wall, he used it as a way to keep balance, traveling as quick as he dared while remaining quiet and cautious of every corner. The ground became slippery with ice the closer he got to the old wooden piers and the noise from the harbor to his left drowned until there was only a quiet murmur of the busy city.

The atmosphere grew eerie then- and Matthew only tried to concentrate on any sound coming from the building next to him. Voices, footsteps, anything... the silence gnawed at him and he hurried down to the rear of the prison camp, afraid that he was too late.

He more or less slid around the last corner, looking around him and half expecting a body to be laying right there... It was hard to tell if he was disappointed when there wasn't. But that would be too easy wouldn't it? To have it all over just like that; Dmitri bleeding on the ground and Ivan standing over him victoriously.

Of course Canada wouldn't be that lucky- his fortune had been pretty dark lately, he didn't expect it to lighten up so soon. It still didn't stop him from hoping however, and it wasn't like he'd been discouraged- Matthew wasn't one to give up or back down when he was needed. So when he turned that corner and still didn't see either of the two men he searched for, he huffed and continued on, sticking close to the stone wall. After all, they had to be here somewhere...

Leaning wood columns held up the overhanging roof, though many of the shingles had been torn apart, leaving holes. To his left, a small row of piers and docks, perhaps four in total. The boards looked weathered, some missing all together, but there was still some in use.

A modest sized boat waited patiently and silently at the end of one, just out of reach of the frozen ice creeping up from the rocky shore. Old and rusted, it still floated, and looked to be in working order. That would be the perfect getaway boat if Matthew ever saw one, and he hoped Dmitri was not already on it.

He glanced from the building next to him to the ship in the distance- wondering which he should go to first before deciding that- if anything, sabotaging the boat may be his best option. Should the slippery bastard make an escape from a hunting Russia, then at least he wouldn't get very far.

Jogging towards the small ship, he breathed heavily, ignoring the puffs of his own breath in front of him. It was getting colder outside, and he didn't exactly come prepared. The flannel shirt was covered by a simple insulated black jacket but it was unzipped, and his hands were unguarded by any gloves.

But at least he had a pistol, and he retrieved it from the hem of his jeans as he stepped onto the pier, slowing down to a walk while on the icy foot-boards. They groaned under his weight, and he looked around him for any sign of life, knowing he was out in the open- an easy target.

There was nobody around though, and the wind stilled around him until all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing and the too-loud-for-comfort boards underneath his boots. The boat's engine was not running, and from his position, he could see nobody on deck. With one hand ready to shoot if necessary, he reached over to touch the lip of the boat, leaning forward to see more of the vessel. He tried to look into the windows of the cabin but they were filthy with lime buildup and rust from the metal around it.

He could see nothing, hear no noise- and he was confident Dmitri had not made it here yet if that was the case. Perhaps Ivan confronted him elsewhere _inside_ the camp, because wherever that gunshot came from, it had to be close by.

On the side of the hull hung a small ladder to help any passengers board the ship easier- with a small grunt of exertion, he hauled himself up, swinging his legs over the waist-high barrier to the rusty metal decking.

A clutter of equipment made it difficult to walk across to the cabin, and Matthew had to shake the thin ropes of fishing nets off his feet before they sent him tumbling to the floor. The small door to the captain's cabin stood ajar and protested loudly when Matthew opened it further. Inside, more clutter, more rust, and a stale musty air that didn't smell very pleasant in Matthew's opinion. Most importantly though, nobody was inside.

"There aren't any keys," Matthew noticed. He bent down to look underneath the stationary desk full of gages and dials- some cracked, some broken, and all of them hardly readable. He shoved moldy boxes aside, looked through a few files of paper, finally found the captain's chair out of the mess- but no keys and no information of who owned this boat (if there was an owner at all).

Was he missing something? He swore Dmitri would make his last stand on a ship, and with the police patrolling the harbor there was only one place he could safely board; here. He must have known this boat was here if he decided to come this way-

A deep crack of thunderous sound bellowed across the area. It was loud- too loud, and Matthew's entire form jumped with surprise, head jerking around to see where it had come from. In the next instant a scream tore through the air and Canada scrambled out of the little cabin. He leaned over the ship's hull to look out to the camp behind.

A dark form was seen slipping through a small opening of an aluminum door, quick to gain distance from the building but tripping over himself, falling to the rocky ground harshly. He struggled, barely standing, forced to walk instead of run lest he fall again.

He had dark hair. And currently moving Matthew's way.

Matthew's jaw clenched, eyes roaming to the door Dmitri had come from, feeling a complete-body relaxing relief as a familiar mop of white hair came into view. The opening Dmitri had slipped through was not big enough for Ivan, and Canada watched him shove the door aside with his inhuman strength, stepping outside and following the stumbling human at a more sedate but angry pace, reloading his rifle as he went.

Dmitri was already at the dock, and he turned around to see if Ivan was catching up, he raised a pistol to shoot at the Russian. It missed by a wide margin, striking the stone facade of the building three feet to the right of Ivan.

With a final click, Russia's weapon was ready, and he retaliated with his own shot that struck Dmitri in the upper leg, sending him crashing back to the wooden boards underneath him with a shout of pain.

Matthew's lips tilted slightly, and he watched with a little too much satisfaction as Dmitri struggled to stand once more. The bullet may have only nicked him or simply passed right through with little problem- or perhaps one is underestimating basic survival instincts, because even through all that pain, the man stood, desperately making his way to the ship like it would save his life.

He slipped rather pathetically a few times on the icy dock, but reached the ship eventually, grasping the ladder with harsh breaths and hardly able to pull himself up. More or less falling to the deck, he groaned in pain, fishing into his pockets to retrieve a set of keys Matthew assumed went to the boat.

He stood shakily, gasping with exertion. Stumbling across the deck and nearly tripping over every bit of clutter to get to the captain's cabin, looking behind him for Ivan's location as if the Russian would be right at his back in the next instant. It reminded Matthew of the Baltics, particularly the smallest- Latvia- in the way he was shaking, paranoid, and intimidated. The fact that Ivan finally instilled the fear of Death into the vicious man only gave Matthew a sense of pride.

Those gold eyes that once held arrogance and cruelty, were now glazed over with pain and the fight for survival. As horrible as he was, no matter what he knew, what he did, and who he killed- he was a basic human. And all people feared death.

Dmitri knew he had little chance of living once Ivan found him, and that fact only made him desperate- pathetically in everyone's opinion, as it seemed pretty clear that he had no escape. However, that slim light of hope in his eyes as he turned the corner of the cabin extinguished in the next second.

That may have been caused by the barrel of a 9mm staring at his face.

He halted in his steps, bringing both hands up as a sign of surrender, one holding the gun, the other holding the keys. Both hands were bloody and a steady stream of red soaked his entire torso and left pant-leg. Up close, Matthew could see he'd been shot once in the abdomen- probably from the first shot he'd heard. The second in his left leg.

Dmitri barely stood, keeping most of his balance to the right, and it made for an awkward shuffle as he attempted to back away from the gun at his head. Hazy golden eyes connected with a light violet and the human chuckled slightly, as out of breath as he was.

"Y-you. You were dead last time I checked."

A smile of his own lifted Canada's face, but it was sarcastic and almost cynical. "I came back. Didn't want to miss out on watching you die."

"Matvey?" Ivan hopped over the ship's side, looking surprised. "You were not supposed to be here."

Dmitri scoffed. "Da. Neither were you. The plan was to escape without you noticing. Look how lovely that turned out."

"You're shot," Matthew noticed as he glanced towards Russia. The man's right shoulder, more towards his neck, was bleeding profusely.

"Nothing bad."

"My apologies, I should have taken more practice with a gun," Dmitri commented. "Besides, aren't you more worried about yourself? I know I personally left some life-changing wounds on you."

Matthew smiled. "Life-changing? So you played doctor on my chest, and attempted to rape me- do you think you really made such an impact?"

"You're right, next time I'll think up something more terrifying. I still have a few ideas, Aнгел."

Ivan's sharp glare only darkened. "There won't be a next time."

… Thank You ...

About time, eh? I know some of you got anxious near the end. It pushed me in a way, cause when you guys get disappointed, I do too. Which is why, even though I'm not very proud of this chapter, I'll leave it here and go ahead and post. Two more chapters to go! And don't worry about America or Belarus, I'll get to them later. Ha ha.

Sorry for the late update, but I hope you stick around to see how this plays out. Some people are falling out of the fandom it seems. And there haven't been any updates to the really good RusCan stories out there.

Fellow Authors! Come on! I updated, you should too! Don't give up!

Thank you for all the awesome reviews and encouragements. I try to reply to everyone but you blow me away every time. XD

_Translations:_

Aнгел (Russian)- Angel

_Disclaimer_: I don't own anything within this story but the plot itself. But it's a damn good plot so maybe it'll make me money one day, eh? Ha ha.


	39. Rouge: Red

Chapter 39:

"Matt!" Alfred called out. "Slow down!" He barely saw the blond hair belonging to his brother ducking around another group of men stuck at the harbor. America growled, knowing the man probably heard him, after all, his voice was, above all, _loud_. Ask anyone.

So why was Matthew not _stopping_?

Roughly shoving a few bystanders out of the way and ignoring the angry retorts that treatment earned him, he finally made it out of the crowd to see his brother... nowhere in sight. "Damn it." Was getting to an abandoned death camp that important? Ridiculous.

Alfred didn't see why it meant so much to Canada anyway; Ivan was a big guy, he could handle himself, and Alfred was confident that he'd capture the criminal with little problem. If not, America would step in and kill the bastard himself. No way was he going to get away with kidnapping his brother and hurting him like that.

Hell, if this happened on American soil, you best believe the guy would be put to death quickly... although, that would probably garner a lot of attention. Oh well, it would set an example; nobody messes with his brother.

He was not going to let his brother go after that psycho alone - and he really didn't know if he meant _Ivan_, or Dmitri. They both were kind of insane in his opinion; why Matthew wanted to willingly throw himself between them was beyond the American.

He supposed the Heroic gene ran through both of them, if so, then he really needed to talk to Canada about how to properly save the day. If Alfred was going to play (God forbid) _Sidekick_, then leaving him behind was so completely _wrong_.

Balling his hands into fists, he took a look around him, noticing the dark building to his right and figuring that was the right place. He started to run in that direction until he came to the large fence along the place's perimeter. "Did he go over this?" _How the hell- does he not understand the words 'take-it-easy'?_

He didn't lift himself over the barrier right way, instead, he traveled along the perimeter, getting closer to the beach. Gravel and rocks crunched underfoot- there was no sand here, only rubble coming in many different sizes and colors, some jagged, others smooth. All were half-frozen and dirty in color, still and lifeless- the edge of the water was currently trapped under ice up to ten feet away from the beach line and it was hard to tell where land stopped and ocean began.

Heavy combat boots stepped as softly as possible as America traced the chain-linked fence- he could see the barrier take a dip into ice a few yards ahead. It sloped into the solid white mass of frozen water until it finally stopped its journey about 30 feet into the ocean.

Alfred didn't know if that water would ever melt enough to make waves upon the shore; to once again pick up the abandoned stones around him to clean them and carry them off to the deep ocean. But if it ever did, then anyone would be able to easily lift themselves over the fence.

However, Alfred knew that wasn't a problem. For one... he seriously doubted that this beach ever saw the light and heat of a true summer sun and nobody would be crazy enough to swim in these waters at below zero temperatures.

Alternatively, it looked like the water offered a solid platform of ice across to the end of the fence, but Alfred didn't want to test how thin it actually was. Already he could hear creaks and cracks as he set foot on the ice.

He braved the eerie sounds for the moment though, stepping further out in order to look around the building of the desolate death camp. He could see movement, and he recognized the form of his brother- out in the open, in the middle of a rotten dock. Alfred's blue eyes followed the man's direction to see the small ship at the end, and he came to the same conclusion as everyone else.

America couldn't see if anyone occupied the ship's bowels, but he did prepare his weapon in order to protect his brother's back. Until Matthew climbed safely onto the metal boat with no problems, Alfred remained tense and focused.

Though, he seriously felt the need to climb this fence and join his reckless little brother, just in case something went wrong - and damn it all, because Mattie shouldn't even be there, why did he agree to let him go?

A part of his mind whispered a new idea. Something he could do to help, but it would involve leaving and he didn't want to let Matthew's distant figure to disappear from his sight. He assumed responsibility, even though Matthew was independent, strong, and more than able to handle this himself, Alfred knew that...

Matthew was also part of his family, his northern neighbor, his best friend, the one Nation America could trust to leave his defenses so lack and open. The word "brothers" may not be so binding to Nation-representatives like them, but Alfred believed they were siblings in every nature. Close enough for America to protect the northern nation as if Matthew was his own (and at times, he wished he could say that definitively).

Canada always hated his over-protective streak that he claimed was brought on by paranoia. The fairer blond was determined to keep a line between them; physically from the border, and mentally as brothers. Because Alfred's affection for him going past a sense of sibling love had already failed on one occasion - when a young America broke away from England, wanting to take everything that was part of their hemisphere with him.

Matthew refused to be his, and to this day, Alfred wasn't quite sure whether his brother did so out of loyalty to the British or because Alfred wasn't quite in his right mind. Perhaps he knew that America would swallow him and his people whole. Either way, his rejection had hurt, and Alfred did something he would never be proud of. He went to war with his brother.

So, with the confidence of a super-power Country who had his ass kicked, he could say firsthand how strong Canada was. Matthew could get things done just as well as America could.

He didn't need to worry, really. His little brother could take on anything, especially a sick human with delusions of grandeur. And with Ivan there, who certainly didn't need any help on his side in the first place - Alfred's involvement would just be a bothersome interference, right?

An anxious sigh escaped him, and he backed away from fence, the death camp, and his brother's far-off figure searching the ship's cabin. He turned around, facing the busy harbor once more, and drew close to the nearest pier holding a boat.

With his left hand, he unclipped the radio receiver from his belt, holding it up to speak into it. "Oi, Gilbert, you there?"

"Ja." Came the clear, sharp reply.

"Get in touch with Russia's guards searching the docks. I'm hijacking a ship for myself."

...oOo...

"There won't be a next time."

Dmitri huffed, his harsh breathing making it difficult to properly let out the condescending chuckle Matthew had heard enough of the past few days. "Do you recognize this boat?" The Russian asked, completely off-topic and not near as focused as a man should be while facing death in the face.

Although, perhaps panic and desperation can do the exact opposite; maybe Dmitri was stalling for time, or already feeling the effects of blood loss. In that case, his random comments to strike up a conversation weren't so surprising. But it did seem to irritate Ivan further.

"Нет, and I do not care. Shut up, drop your gun, and turn around."

"This is the boat that ferried the prisoners from the camp to the mines on the other side of the rocky hills. One of many, but now it's the only one left I think. You were placed on a ship like this everyday. Probably where you got your frostbite from most of the time. The mines too-"

Ivan stalked forward, and Dmitri moved to used his pistol but it was sluggish and predictable. Russia batted it away easily, and with the force to send it out of Dmitri's hands to the rusty clutter below. The Russian was shoved into the metal wall that made up the captain's cabin roughly, crying out when Ivan dug his elbow into the wound near his stomach.

"I said shut the fuck up," Ivan snarled. "I'm determined to take you back alive if at all possible - a quick death for you is not in my plans, so you will do as I say!"

"You can tell us to do many things, Ivan Braginski, but nobody is listening to you. Russia is not listening to a pathetic excuse of a representative! Fuck you!"

Russia took a step back, only to have room to maneuver his rifle and send the butt-end of it into the man's abdomen. Dmitri's breath left him, and he curled in on himself, a silent scream on his lips.

"Whatever your opinions of me are, I do not care. There can only be one Nation-person, and even if that representative is consumed by hate, it is because of the _people_, we are affected by them just as much - if not more - than they are by us. Your attempt to change me back to what I used to be is an impossible task, Dmitri."

Canada, unmoving from his spot, with his gun still trained on the criminal, shook his head. "While a part of him still bears that piece of his past, it is not nearly as potent. The world changes - so do the people, and so do we."

"Then _change_," Dmitri snapped back, still fighting to get his breath back. "If your people listen to you, tell them to stop being so weak. You don't understand!" He swallowed thickly, breathing deeper in order to calm himself. With a shaky hand, he reached into his breast pocket of his coat, laughing shortly as both men trained their weapons at him, waiting for an attack. He was on his knees now, resting his back against the captains cabin weakly. There was so much blood - was it all his?

"You want to know why I did all this? I'll tell you. It's not a secret." He slowly removed his hand from his coat, holding up one of his cigars and a slim lighter loosely to show it meant no harm. "How long have you been alive?" He asked, as his hand mechanically brought the tobacco up to his mouth. His lips were smeared with red most likely from a split lip and he had an iron taste of blood on his tongue.

"Long enough."

Dmitri made a scoffing sound, clumsily clicking the lighter to start up a flame. When he finally succeeded and lit the end of his cigar, he smiled victoriously. "What a lame answer," he commented. "Long enough - you've lived a long time compared to us, and yet you're still so stupid. You hide behind your president like they'll protect you. You watch from the sidelines as they rule our Nation and run it into the ground."

"What are you getting at?" Matthew asked.

Gold eyes stared up into a soft violet, and the intensity made Matthew uncomfortable. He hated those eyes on him, it made his skin crawl. This time, however, he had no need to fear, not when he had his strength back, not when Dmitri was literally bleeding out on the hull of a rusty ship, and definitely not when Ivan stood right next to him.

"Look at your government, the holes - the way people have no choices in their lives, how difficult everything is. You'll see that we're still dealing with the same problems we've had ages ago. Same shit, different era. But you don't do anything about it, why?

"_Why_ do you elect pathetic presidents to ignore your advice and destroy your people's lives? Don't sit there and let fake 'elected' officials decide for you. Put someone _real_ in charge. No petty promises or washed up ideas that never work or see fruition. You used to be so strong - I could practically _see_ how you collected the other Nations for the Soviet Union. You let that go to waste-"

"You were not there, you didn't see how those Nations hated being under my rule-"

"So what! They were better off there. You have to make the hard choices, Russia. The people have too many feelings and opinions; they fight and bicker over each other - they don't know what they want. _You_ are not supposed to be like them; you're not supposed to be human. Who else will make the necessary sacrifices for their country? The fucking presidents? Like they would."

Matthew's grip tightened on his pistol, "We still make sacrifices, more than any other. Don't act like-"

"What is your sacrifice?" Dmitri interrupted, golden eyes piercing with a lucidity that claimed he was sane, but there was a light of madness within that gave his words an edge. "Let me guess; _love_? Living for so long, you'll never have a normal life with a wife and kids - and the only people who could spend that time with you that way all have their own agendas. You will never be together, you know this?"

Matthew's violet eyes darkened, hurt and saddened, but he didn't refute and Dmitri continued on: "What about war? While all the humans play soldiers, you go to the real battles; which one of you is stronger? What are the rewards for taking over another? You are sent to a death match where one of you is sure to leave broken."

"Quiet," Ivan replied, his voice rough with anger and a hint of vulnerable weariness. "We know what our position asks of us. Those are our sacrifices, and we do them not only because we are told to, but because we will die for what we protect _willingly_. We know what our people need and want more than they do themselves."

"Exactly!" Dmitri exclaimed. "You're so wise and knowing," he continued sarcastically. "Why don't you get rid of the middle man, your pathetic _boss_, and do what you're meant to do - come out of hiding and rule right where you're supposed to be!"

"There are limits to our involvement, Dmitri, if people knew we existed..."

Ivan held his hand up for Matthew to stop there. "You're contradicting yourself - you want me to go back to being... a monster who does what he is told, that's why you sent me that _collar_, you brought me _here_, of all places. And now you tell me that you want me to rule my own country?"

Dmitri rolled his eyes, taking a long inhale of his cigar, hoping the tobacco would calm his nerves; it was working somewhat. "A dog is only as good as his training. I don't want a weak leader, Ivan. I want someone who will look at the facts, make the necessary sacrifices, and rule _without_ having a separate, selfish agenda. I want to separate Ivan Braginski from the Representative of Russia. Russia, our fearless leader, doesn't need to _feel_, and he certainly does not need distractions of _love_." He peered up at Canada.

"If we didn't feel," Matthew added. "Then we'd lose touch with everyone; our connection to them would be lost. How do you expect us to help them and be an emotionless monster at the same time?"

Blinking lethargically, the criminal tilted his head slightly, as it he hadn't thought of that. "Having your own feelings makes you partial to one perspective. While you want to save all the poor and homeless, there are other matters you ignore." He shrugged, flinching when his wounds pulled. "Maybe Matthew Williams and Canada can never be truly divided. But I think... You'd still be more of a leader than any civilian would. I will give you the choice. I just wish I could see how right I was."

Ivan's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

A small smile crossed his lips and he flicked ashes from the tip of his cigar before taking another draw. "There's an investigation going on as we speak, Ivan. In Moscow, I assume your boss is frantically trying to destroy any evidence that you exist."

"Why?" Russia snapped, suddenly worried - what else had Dmitri done to make his president panic in such a way?

"Because, I may have accidentally told someone of your position. And I believe someone else on the inside of the president's circle of trusted officials stole some very important documents - forged IDs, birth certificates, dating all the way back to the early 1900s - all with your name, and your boss's signatures all over them. The revelation of a completely new web of lies involving Nation-Representatives."

"The press...Katyusha." Russia took a second to flounder in shock, not knowing whether to completely believe this man's words, or panic at the thought that their lives where now _known_... to the _world_.

He never took his eyes off the criminal before him, but if he looked at Canada beside him, he'd see a similar expression there. "But y-your book! I thought that was going to be your evidence!"

Dmitri frowned. "Da, I wanted to give it to my contact; it would only substantiate everyone's rising belief, and at the same time, let them know how dangerous you were. But the tapes of you fighting, the forged IDs, even hospital records of your injuries, some of which were from the _World Wars_... It seems like my book won't be needed. I had wished for everyone to know what you could become for them, but at least part of my plan will work; everyone will know who you are, and maybe you'll replace that stupid boss of yours."

"Do you have any idea of what you've done..." Matthew whispered.

Dmitri smiled up at him, showing bloody teeth. "I gave you the chance, Canada, to become more than you are now. To do something with your power, to prevent people like me, or my father." He paused. "Or maybe more people like me will be created from this, who knows."

"Who is your contact?" Ivan asked.

The wry smile turned into a smirk, "Ah, you're going to interrogate me now, da? You may find out who he is, but by the time you kill him for treachery, it'll be just a bit too late."

"I look forward to killing him anyway. Matvey," he called. "Watch him."

He freed one hand from his rifle, reaching into his coat pocket to bring out a pair of metal handcuffs he borrowed from one of Magadan's police officers patrolling the harbor. They clinked together merrily as Ivan shoved at Dmitri's shoulder, earning a grunt of pain. "Turn around."

Russia's arm shoved him against the metal wall behind, turning him until his abdomen twisted painfully and his cheek brushed against rust and chipped paint. His left hand tightened around the vanilla cigar, holding onto it both out of pain, and because he knew he couldn't let go of it yet. His right hand, out of sight now that he was turned so roughly, returned to his chest pocket, wrapping around a smooth wooden handle. "Did you know diesel burns hotter than regular gasoline?" Dmitri said suddenly.

Ivan paused for just a second, surprised at the comment.

Matthew blinked, once again wondering just what he was going on about now. Another random topic change to waste more time? Was the blood loss making him delusional? However, that hesitant instant in which both Canada and Russia processed that sentence was all the time Dmitri needed to slip his arm away from Ivan, throwing his hand out and letting the lit tobacco fly out of his grip.

The half burned stub passed Canada, landing on a bundle of rope netting rather anticlimactically. "I may have been here before," Dmitri said, still struggling to speak clearly as the bullet wound in his side protested painfully at the way he twisted. He smiled again, evil, condescending, victorious. "It is my boat after all, and I'm always prepared for the worst."

Matthew stood frozen, watching with wide eyes as the net ignited too fast to be normal. The rope must have been soaked in some kind of fuel. Diesel apparently; Dmitri knew, he did so himself, perhaps predicting that Ivan _would_ find him before he got away. He had this boat before - as a back up to his helicopter, his vehicle, the train. He thought that far ahead?

Fire spread alarmingly fast along the clutter of netting and fishing equipment and Matthew knew it was too dangerous to attempt to put it out now. The flames grew large and the heat intense; Diesel took longer to combust, it didn't burn cleanly, but it lasted longer and was difficult to be near. Black smog quickly covered the area, rising and falling sluggishly as it weighed more than the air.

The metal structure of the ship would not be threatened immediately, but there was so much clutter around; wooden crates, old and dry, easily eaten by the fire and added to the scale and heat.

It crawled like a snake following a trail to the cabin; fuel must have been spread everywhere, dry and mistakable for old oil. It hardly even gave off a scent that Matthew could recognize when boarding the boat, but that could have been masked by the smell of fish and bait.

Now, he could only watch as the flames traced patterns around the hull, creeping to the back where the engines were kept, and Canada suddenly had a terrifying thought. The motors that ran this ship; large strong machines that were open and rich with petroleum fuel. Highly flammable and in such a quantity an explosion would be imminent.

It would take only a minute to blow when the fire reached it - Matthew would not be here when it happened. And neither would Ivan.

He turned to find Russia, reaching forward to take his arm; they needed to go. Now.

Their eyes met, familiar shades of violet, each thinking the same thing, and Canada had only taken a single step forward before Dmitri moved himself. A knife was in his hand, dark cherry wood, bright steel; Matthew _recognized it_.

The same knife that was used on him. To carve into him, to violate him.

He knew it, and dreaded the sight. He wished he could shout, have time to move, to take the blow that Ivan could not see coming; Ivan wasn't watching, he was looking at _Canada_, worried about him and the fire -

Dmitri leapt forward, and all Matthew could think about was how that weapon felt against his skin, the pain that came with it. The dullness of the blade made it more difficult; Dmitri had to use more force to cut through, splitting it wider, deeper. Stabbing and sawing. He would never wish that pain on anyone, least of all Russia. The mere thought brought tears to his eyes.

How dare he use that knife? Matthew never wanted to see it again, never wanted it to be used on another person.

"_It was my grandfather's._"

How many generations had it been in service then? How many people had felt their flesh part underneath its polished silver?

Canada's breath left him as the knife propelled faster than Matthew could act against it - it buried into Ivan's side, the closest part Dmitri could reach turned as he was. The blade disappeared into flesh, and Russia jerked at the sudden pain, trying to back away in clumsy surprise.

Matthew raised his pistol, clear rage and shock on his features. He didn't think as he pulled the trigger, only consumed with the need to finally end this man's life. A loud gunshot was heard over the roar of building fire behind him, and Dmitri's body recoiled in return. The knife fell from the criminal's fingers, bright gold eyes wide with pain and terror. A blossoming red barely had time to spread from the center of his chest before Matthew shot at him again.

Dmitri fell back against the cabin, a silent scream on his lips, another bullet hit home, an inch to the right of the first.

Another shot. And another. Matthew wanted him littered with holes, he wanted to see blood - more than the amount he had been drained of himself. More than Ivan had shed in his fights, more blood than he had lost from the gunshot he suffered from now, and more than the amount of blood lost from his new knife-wound.

They had bled enough; it was Dmitri's turn. Payback for the blackmail, the fear, the pain, the death of Matthew Williams and Kumajiro. He didn't care if a quick death was too good for him, didn't care if he had answers to questions Ivan or his government had; he just wanted him _gone_.

He didn't want him on the face of the Earth anymore, to know he breathed the same air as they did disgusted him. To know that at any moment, he could break free from whatever cell they put him in to hurt others.

To come back and terrorize his loved ones.

He wouldn't allow it. And so he shot him again, through the chest, the abdomen, the legs, his pelvis; he had eight bullets in his magazine holder, eight rounds to find a home for. He spared none. He watched those gold eyes begin to fade, he knew he had made the right decision.

To the right of him, Ivan straightened from his slouch, pulling the imbedded knife from his flank and throwing it to the floor. He showed no sympathy to the dying man in front of him, only a blank expression of indifference to his death. Lips thin and eyes dark. "Matvey," His voice was firm but not in anger or disapproval - he was comforting in his confident, fearless gaze. "We have to g-"

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by a large explosion that threw them off their feet. A sudden sense of vertigo; Matthew's world spun - the ground became the sky and he tumbled in whichever direction the concussive force sent him. He felt flames licking at his back, intense heat that burned his skin before he felt his body collide with something hard and metal.

A rumble, so loud and angry, the ground shook and Canada had no way of holding onto anything as he fell, one second he was on firm ground, the next, he was in the air, feeling his breath leave him in shock.

And then he hit ice and water and his world turned to black.

...oOo...

"Ah! Shit, just give me morphine, or knock me out, please!"

Natalia scoffed, keeping her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the doorway empathically. "Be quiet. You're too loud."

"What the fuck is she doing?" the desperate voice replied. "Tell her to quit it!"

"She's cleaning and stitching you up-"

"No she isn't! What kind of help is this? I got shot! Nothing should hurt worse than that, right? What kind of doctor invents shit that hurts worse than getting _shot_?"

"I will shoot you again if you do not _be quiet_!" Natalia snapped, her blue eyes glinting in anger and irritation, her face scrunching in an effort to hold her snarl back.

And finally, there was no pathetic, witty retort back from the injured man on the hospital cot. Alec Zaytsev frowned, teeth gnawing on his lip like he had plenty of times before, deep hazel eyes shining with a sense of disorientation, blood-loss (which was being helped now that an IV was set into his arm), and pain. He was cuffed to the bed, both wrists on both sides, which he didn't seem to mind - in fact, he was happy to say he _enjoyed_ that kind of thing, and Natalia could only turn away in disgust. She watched with a perpetually dark expression as the doctor named Larissa did her work on his injuries.

There had been a pain medication added to the IV, but perhaps it hadn't kicked in yet; either way, Natalia was regretting that she didn't use sedatives as well. Something to put the irritating man to sleep for all eternity?

But she knew the man had information that was very important to them; anything he knew could be put to use against Dmitri Mihailov. So Natalia will make sure he lives... if she had the patience.

Although, thankfully, her last threat seemed to work, and the man's mouth closed with a resounding click, his eyes wide with surprise. He sat there for a few moments, looking at her thoughtfully and somewhat fearfully; as if she were about to jump at him with a weapon.

And then his lips parted again and he said in that annoying voice; "You were the one who shot me?"

Belarus had to hide a smirk, "Of course."

"W-why?"

Blue eyes rolled in annoyance once more, "What a stupid question. I already told you, Vanya is my brother, I was working with him to find Canada. His little bear was my responsibility - when he ran off to get Mr. Williams on his own, I had to assist."

Alec's head tilted slightly, thinking on that explanation. He seemed confused, and a question was almost voiced on his tongue. "Can... Uh, yeah, I had no idea a polar bear could be trained like a K9 dog. Still - you lied to me!" he said as if he was dealt some injustice.

Natalia had the decency to look shocked. "E-excuse me?" Then angry. "You lied to me first! To sit there and ask me about sibling-love. You knew all along of who I was - _what_ I was... and yet you threw such a thing in my face, knowing I could never do anything about it!"

"I didn't kn-"

She screeched, suddenly frustrated beyond belief and livid with a sense of sadness. "You said family was supposed to be there for each other, that you would die for yours and how any right person should; you meant that for me, did you not? You wanted me to die for my family?"

"No!" Alec yelped, loud and panicked. His eyes were wild with surprise that looked so real Natalia wanted to believe he was telling the truth. "I didn't know you were his sister, I swear!"

"But you knew I was the representation of Belarus! Like Dmitri, you wanted to influence us, yes? To change us for something better? What were your plans, Alec? Were you going to harm me, my people?"

"What are you talking about? My only plans were to finish this fucking job so I could save Maria-"

"Liar! You wanted to ruin me, my brother, Canada, even my sister, Ukraine!" The man just floundered in the face of her accusations, not knowing how to respond, not even sure of what she was _talking_ about. She kept mentioning Nations like they were involved, and the way she brought them up made absolutely no _sense_. "You hit on me like some slutty _whore_ you could bed! Is that what you think we are? Something to be used - you think it would be so easy?"

"I-I don't..."

Natalia paused, taking a deep breath. Then, she turned to the Doctor, Larissa, snapping in clear Russian for her to leave the room. She did so immediately and with haste, the two soldiers outside the room peeked in, ensuring her safety before shutting the door at her request. Alec swallowed thickly, watching the woman stalk forward. She neared his bed, leaning closer to speak in a deadly quiet tone.

"It would take little effort to kill you; I could do so with my bare hands, but I find I like my knives better." She reached under her skirts, pulling it up to show the holster full of wicked looking blades. "If you say all the right things, perhaps your manhood will remain intact enough to be useful to you, Alec."

"W-what," he squeaked. "Come o-on, Natalia-"

"Oh, please, just call me Belarus, yes? Since that is who you obviously wanted all along."

"I don't understand!"

"Don't you?" Her hand landed on his bare chest, and she let some of her weight shift on it as she leaned over, the other hand, now holding a jagged-edge six inch long field knife neared his sweating face, the flat side of her weapon tapped his half-bandaged shoulder, earning a pained gasp and a fearful whimper.

The sharp tip trailed over his pectoral teasingly. "You asked for a kiss, Alec. Do you still want one? Is it so you could brag to everyone how you humiliated me so? Would that gain you _fame_?"

Her hand crossed his abdomen, her nimble fingers slipped under his pants hem, the thumb stroking the small plastic button that kept them closed. He shut his eyes, shaking his head. "I-I don't know what you want me to say, Natalia! I don't understand! I really don't know!"

"You're lying aga-"

"I'm not!" His brown eyes reopened, snapping up to meet her own blues. "I swear, Natalia, I'm sorry, I didn't know he was your brother, I don't know why Dmitri went after him, I didn't know you were involved until I saw you on the fucking street out there! You can cut my dick off if you want, ah, please don't!" he practically screamed as she jerked the knife lower, as if to carry out that threat. "It won't change the fact that I have no _idea_ what you're talking about!" he rushed out.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What about Canada?"

"What _about_ Canada? I've never been to the damn place! What the hell?"

Natalia froze altogether at that. "N-no," she stated more slowly. "You know who Matthew Williams is, you know who Ivan Braginski is... Do you not?"

"No," he groaned. "That's what I've been telling you all along. I don't know!"

"Nation representatives," Natalia snapped. "You did not know that Ivan Braginski represented all of Russia? That you kidnapped the representative of Canada?"

"W-what, they were government ambassadors-"

"No! Ivan _is_ Russia, Matthew _is_ Canada. And I am Belarus!"

Alec blinked, taking a second for that explanation to properly compute... he took another second attempt to understand... "Huh?"

Belarus growled, spinning away from the man on the bed, stomping over to the door and wrenching it open with a vicious anger. "_Larissa!_" she called. The woman stepped forward right away, looking out of place in between the two Russian soldier decked out in full military gear. She seemed to respond well however - she had helped them greatly with Kumajirou's injuries she heard.

The military presence did not seemed to bother her like it did the other hospital staff, and the rest of the personnel were more than happy to temporarily assign her to assist them in any of their needs. She didn't ask questions, did as she was told, and was very good at her job; the soldiers seemed to enjoy her company, though most of the patients claimed she had strict rules on their limitations.

"_Give him something that will put him to sleep for the next few hours; I don't want him awake until the others I am with return. Understand?"_ She woman nodded, hurrying off into the room.

Natalia sighed, running a free hand through her hair.

Her other hand masterfully twirled the large field knife around her thin fingers as if she had been handling the weapons her whole life. It made the Russians shift uneasily as they watched it, and Natalia smiled politely at them. "Just like Vanya," she chirped. "For some reason he thinks I'll stab him when I do this! Like I would ever harm my fiancé!"

She did want to cut _something_ though; it was just her mood, she supposed.

...oOo...

His head throbbed, a dangerous beat against his skull, he could hear the rush of blood in his hears. There was a stinging sensation across his arm and he remembered the heat of the explosion behind him. Maybe he was burned or he caught on fire - those heavy insulated jackets were not the best fire resistant clothes available. If he had been hurt in the fire, he didn't feel it now, though.

Matthew doubted any kind of fire would survive being doused in freezing temperature water. Although, that was a double edged sword; because water that cold surrounding a person also felt like a burn. It was so cold, pins and needles stung painfully along his limbs, his hands were numb, and his chest - of course he couldn't breathe under water, but he didn't think he could make his lungs function even if there was air to take in.

He opened his eyes, ignoring the pain. He was in the ocean, the salt hurt and his injuries... the water drenched his clothes down to the gauze wrappings on his torso, ice gripping numb and yet painfully stinging as the minerals within cleaned and dissolved.

All he saw were shades of grey and black. He couldn't tell if he was looking up to the sky or down to the sea floor. There was a current sweeping at his feet, so he wasn't able to stabilize himself and figure out which way he was going. And then his head hit something rough and biting, and it sent another spike of pain coursing down his spine.

His arms raised up, his knuckles scraped across the solid sharp edges of whatever he had hit and a subconscious part of him supplied the answer to its identity; ice. It was the frozen layer of ice over the still shore-line. Matthew's hands tried to get a grip, to keep him still; the current was still taking him and he tried to right himself using the pressure against the ice above.

Feet searched for some kind of purchase but he couldn't feel the rocky floor beneath him and he started to panic. His chest hurt, his lungs screamed for oxygen and he _pushed_ against the ice on top of him, scraping at it, trying to find a crack or _something_. Anything!

He heard the weak groan of frozen water giving away and he lifted a fist up to pound on it, watching his hand break through the opening to grab on to the thin sheets. He pulled himself up, breaking more ice to fit himself through and he gasped, taking in gulps of air and trying to clear the blurriness from his eyes to see where he was.

Cold water splashed around him and he coughed, trying to keep his head above it but he was still unable to hold onto anything solid. The ice around him was too thin to hold all his weight and his limbs were numb; he could hardly feel his own legs kicking underneath him and the heaviness of his clothing and boots only dragged him down.

He looked around, violet eyes wide and blond hair stuck to his cheeks. He found the burning ship a few yards to his right, still cackling madly as fire continued to ravage everything it found. He was on the other side of the dock, the farthest from shore and he had no idea how he was going to get there. He could barely move as it was-

Something heavy brushed against him, wrapping around his waist and causing Matthew to jerk in response, jerking away from the source and almost slipping back underwater with a shuddering gasp.

The thing around his waist tightened, keeping him still, and a large dark form burst from the broken ice next to him with a splash. It coughed a few times, making sounds as if he was trying to speak, and Matthew could only let his body relax momentarily as he recognize Russia's face.

"I-Ivan! What h-happened?" The arm tightened around him, lifting Matthew up slightly, as Russia calmed himself, taking in controlled breaths. Violet eyes roamed him over quickly, and a free hand brushed against the blonde's temple earning a wince and hiss of pain.

"You fell over the r-railing and hit your head," he replied with his own stutter in response to the cold they both were feeling. It made the situation all the more real - the water was freezing and they were stuck on the other side of the docks... "Matvey, listen, w-we have to get out of the water, hold onto my shirt, once we get closer to the shore, the i-ice will be thicker." Matthew nodded, trying to focus on the words.

This wasn't the first time either of them had fallen into freezing water, certainly. But it wasn't often they fell somewhere so far from salvation; nobody was around, there was nothing to hold on to - no rope, no help. Canada missed Kumajirou; no doubt the polar bear would have happily and effortlessly pulled them to shore.

Russia turned, slowly letting his arm slip from Matthew's waist, waiting until the Canadian had a comfortable, strong grip on the back of his coat. Then, with a few more steadying breaths, he pushed forward. The ice was thin, weak, and in most cases gone, with only sparsely littered chunks floating around. It made it easier for Ivan to swim but it also meant they were so far away from the solid part of land that would offer warmth. They still had to go around the ship; perhaps the dock would hold their weight. If they climbed up on it...

"Ivan, t-the boat," Matthew coughed out. His voice was turning hoarse with the amount of cold water he had accidentally swallowed and his head kept pounding. He didn't know what hurt worse; his head, his chest, or the cold, but he had the sense to swim, and he trailed behind Ivan as best as he could. However, the bright flames of the fire caught his attention and he couldn't help but stare.

Russia looked up, pausing in his stroke to tread water, panting from the exertion. They hadn't gotten very far, but by the looks of it, the fire on the ship had gotten way bigger- it billowed thick black smoke into the air, and carried a nasty stench along with it. No doubt, the ship would be sinking soon too.

"Dmitri's book is s-still with him."

Ivan twisted his head to look at the Canadian, "Then it will burn with him."

"A-are you mad that I s-shot him?"

He shook his head in denial. "I am glad, da? He will never h-hurt anyone anymore."

Matthew mumbled an agreement, a wave catching him off guard as it washed above his face and he sputtered. "I still can't touch here, and w-we're still so far out."

The Russian started to pull them forward again, breathing heavier as his body fought off the numbing cold spreading from the ends of his limbs to the center of his chest. He couldn't feel his arms as they propelled them closer to shore - too slow - nor his legs as they kicked - not strong enough. Ice cut into his hand as he pushed it away and he never noticed. "Hold on," he told the blonde behind him. "Keep swimming, keep the blood c-circulating."

"W-wait," Matthew said. "Stop."

"We can't stop, Matvey."

"I h-hear something though, I-Ivan!"

For the second time, Ivan paused, and he felt even more drained than before as he looked around for the source of Matthew's sound. "What?"

Canada tried to point and keep himself afloat at the same time. "I think it's a b-boat, it's coming this way."

Sure enough, Ivan could make out the shape of one in the distance, and it was heading towards them, fast. Russia took a few deep breaths, waiting and hoping that the ship was for them, coming to save them; because if not, then they just wasted precious time watching their salvation drive by. However, with every second the boat stayed on course, Ivan's hope got a little bigger and when they could finally see the dark form of the driver, Matthew waved his arms to signal his attention. Russia gripped him around the waist again to make sure he didn't go under the water.

"Hey!" Canada shouted - his voice sounded rough and it was still too quiet to be heard from such a distance, but the driver on the boat waved back, and a voice much louder and clear yelled in reply with an unmistakable voice.

"Hey! Mattie!"

Canada laughed, relieved, happy, _so thankful_. And Russia chuckled with him, because he never thought he'd be happy to see America; not until the small fishing boat slowed to a stop next to them and Alfred tossed them a rope. "The Hero saves the day!"

Ivan's chuckles didn't wane, even as he concentrated on tying the rope around Canada's chest, unable to feel the threads under his fingertips, but watching the loops and knots to be sure the tie would not come undone until Matthew was safely released. "Da, just hurry up."

Alfred's smile brightened and with his super-strength he pulled the Canadian up easily, yelping as he took hold of his brother around the torso to pull him over the edge. "You're so cold, shit, take the wet clothes off, there are blankets in here somewhere!"

He placed the blonde carefully on the wooden deck, untying the rope and looking around wildly for said standard-issue blankets, finding them in a large emergency cabinet under the captain's chair. He threw them to his brother before picking up the rope again, casting it into the ocean to pick up Ivan.

Pulling him up closer to the ship's edge, Alfred leaned over to take the Russian's hand, lifting him further and almost falling at the weight of Ivan's limp body. He pulled him over by Matthew's still form and waited with shocked features, watching the two men rest on the solid wood, exhausted. "What happened?" he asked. "Is he dead?"

Ivan could only nod, feeling all his energy leave him; he needed to get warm, he needed to get Canada warm - he'd already suffered from hypothermia, it was likely he'd go through it again. He slowly pushed himself up to his knees, turning to Matthew with concern.

Canada was fighting with the flannel shirt he wore, stuttering out a report of what happened to a stunned Alfred, who hurried to help him undress. He had no time to think of how weird that was; America undressing Canada. There was a very good logical reason, and Ivan found it was hard to take off one's clothes when they were soaking wet and freezing, especially as Ivan suffered through the same thing - untying his own boot laces? Forget it.

Too bad he didn't think of how awkward it would be for Alfred to see the scars all over him, the bullet wounds, the knife wound. Or that those dark blues narrowed in anger and concern as he saw Matthew's bandaged chest, something Canada had wanted to keep hidden. Their skin was white, the blood in their bodies sluggish and turning cold - every bruise and blemish was bright and vibrant for all to see.

Ivan threw a heavy blanket over Matthew's form, now only covered in the gauze wrappings and boxers, hiding his body from view. "Alfred," He called, finding his own voice dry and rough. "We should go now."

"What about Dmitri? You want to retrieve his body or something?"

"There will be nothing but ashes to get," he replied. And America understood, he turned to the controls, pushing the throttle in and turning the wheel to the left, slowly bringing the ship around. Ivan leaned against the side of the boat, pulling his blanket around his naked form as well, his head fell back on his shoulders. His skull rested against the wood behind him and he watched with half-lidded eyes as the flaming metal ship that held Dmitri slowly sank into the ocean.

A body pressed against his side, Matthew looked up at him, hair still wet and form still shivering. He leaned against the Russian, and they both took comfort in the warmth. "It's over n-now, eh?"

"He's dead," Ivan whispered, letting his eyes fell shut. "But our problems aren't over... not if he really did tell everyone about us."

"So what if he did," Matthew said. "Everything w-will be ok." His blankets shifted, and he squeaked with the effort of sitting up further and freeing his right arm. Lifting his hand up, he touched the side of Ivan's face, stroking the strong jaw and watching Ivan's eyes turn soft - the same melted look he wore the night they kissed.

It made him smile, and although his teeth wanted to chatter with the cold, he instead pulled the Russian down, connecting their lips tenderly. "We're strong, Ivan. Together, we can take anything the world can throw at us."

Russia's breath hitched and his violet eyes closed once more, this time in peace. His last thought consisted of the hope that they would indeed be together to brave the world. Because he _knew_ what people did to the things they didn't understand, and he doubted he'd survive any more time as a slave, bowing to societies will. He worried about Matthew, his sisters...

This would change everyone's lives.

For good or bad? That was the question...

...Thank You...

Dmitri's death. Huh, was it as you thought it would be? Better, worse? Oh, and for those of you who remembered the poll on my profile a long time ago - what could happen to Matthew in my story; burned, beaten, drowned, raped, almost raped, etc... well, you'll see throughout the story, that almost every single one could have come true (well, some did). Ha ha.

Anyway, one or two more chapters! It's NOT OVER YET!

Also! Check out TreesandCheese – she has a new story called "Wings Of Your Soul," it's a continuation of my "Angel" story. She did very good! Go read that and review, please!

And of course, if you like this, review it as well, I really love your comments! They keep me going!

_Translations_:

None

_Disclaimer_: I do not own a boat, ships, a harbor, Hetalia, it's characters, the countries, or anything else. Not even the ocean.


End file.
